


Magic within

by TyalanganD



Series: I was born with it [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Aromantic Character, M/M, Magic is viewed as a disorder, Past Child Abuse, Self-Discovery, Some Fluff, Some angst, Therapy, Toxic Parent, letting go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29679282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyalanganD/pseuds/TyalanganD
Summary: Merlin and Arthur are safe in Ealdor, healing and discovering themselves, while waiting for any sign that it's safe to come back to the city. Meanwhile, Morgana is torn between loyalty to Uther and kinship with the magical community as the magical protest is about to begin at Magic Now.All the while, Igraine's whereabouts are unknown. Will Arthur, Merlin and Morgana manage to find Arthur's mother?
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: I was born with it [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063883
Comments: 18
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This works starts off directly where the previous work ended.   
> I know it was supposed to come in January, but life happened... sorry! But the series is finished now, and the chapters will all appear in the next couple of days :)

It’s barely fifteen minutes after Arthur’s car, having conveniently changed color and the plaque, drove down the street and turned round the corner, vanishing from Morgana’s vision. Barely fifteen minutes since she learned the secret story of Arthur’s recent life; since she met Merlin; since her life suddenly turned in a totally surprising direction.

She finally turns away from the window and looks around the empty flat, still bearing so many signs of Arthur’s presence – and the fateful bracelets still lying on the floor, abandoned. Morgana almost touches them, but thinks better of it.

“Right,” she says to herself, suddenly undecided. “Time to go.”

Her chest feels hollow, and her limbs don’t want to work properly. She doesn’t know which direction to choose, as if the world has literally turned upside down. Finally, after several failed attempts at limb coordination, she checks the phone, turns to Arthur’s bed, forgets why she did it, looks out of the window, checks the phone again, takes the keys, turns off the light, opens the door, stops herself, comes back to the room, forgets why she’s done it, goes back to the door, checks the phone again, shuts the door, turns the key in the lock. Finally. Finally.

At first, when she walks down the street to the subway station, she expects to be immediately called by Sophia or someone from her circle – only later realizing how stupid and incriminating a move it would be on the girl’s part. Still, she feels that sooner or later, something would happen. For now, Morgana stops to buy a pre-paid card. She’ll use it later to write to Freya.

Soon enough, something really happens, but it isn’t what Morgana grew to expect.

Uther calls. Which isn’t really that strange, given the circumstances. Still, so much has happened between her, Arthur and Merlin, that for a moment, Morgana stares at the screen without much comprehension.

She has to almost physically make her arm move to pick up the call.

“Yes, Dad?”

“Did you talk to him? What did he say?”

Uther hasn’t sounded so pressing and emotional in years. Morgana, who often experienced much more emotion and general affection from her father than poor Arthur did, still has to check her senses before responding. _I bet he was cold as stone when he talked to Arthur about his mother, though_ , thinks Morgana ruefully.

“I did talk to him, yes. He rejected your offer.”

“Why? You must have done something wrong.”

Of course, the first possible explanation. The only explanation Uther would ever allow. Morgana rolls her eyes, though she still trembles inside. She knows it very well: this is the moment when her implied understanding with her father will crumble.

“Why does it have to be me? Arthur is a grown man. He has his own mind. Did it ever occur to you that maybe you could have done something wrong?”

Weirdly enough. Uther lets the remark pass.

“Where is Arthur now?” he asks instead. “In the flat? If he thinks he’s keeping it, he’s mistaken. Did you tell him that? I won’t have him living idly off my mercy without actually earning it.”

“He knows that,” Morgana sighs. “He’s not in his flat. He went away for a couple of days.”

“What? Where did he go?”

“He didn’t say.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Look, Dad…,” Morgana speaks wearily. A headache is coming. Next time she goes to professor Alice, she’ll have to ask her if she knows anyone who can magically cure headaches. And nightmares. She’s sure she’ll have one this night. “I’m heading home anyway. We can talk more when I’m back. I’m really not Arthur’s nurse. He’s away, and I don’t know where he is, but he’s a responsible adult and I trust him. You can perish the thought of calling the cops, or declaring your son dead. He’ll be back, and just pray he forgives you then.”

There is a short pause on the line.

“I do regret I didn’t tell him earlier, you know,” says Uther finally and Morgana doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be happy that her dad has actually admitted to making a mistake, or dismayed that he still fails to recognize the bigger mistake he made many years ago. “If he went away to find his mother…”

“I don’t think he has much to go by, does he?” Morgana says. “It’s not like you really told him where he could find her.”

But I will find that out, Morgana adds in her thoughts. I don’t know how, but I must. There are many secure places where Uther can keep some records. Morgana definitely doesn’t feel like breaking into the safe in his study, or rummaging through the papers in his desk, but maybe that’s where her magic will be of some use. She just needs to get a bit better at it.

“And it will stay that way, daughter,” Uther says in the meantime. “You will not fail me, will you?”

Morgana knows well this pressing tone. Emotions are gone from her father’s voice, and he’s back to his old self.

Oh, you’ll see, Morgana thinks, but she dutifully says:

“No, I will not.”

***

_Hi Freya. It’s Morgana, Arthur’s sister. Merlin gave me ur no. Hope it’s okay to text u. Just wanted to let u know, I’m not with Uther, but I want to protect Arthur. Let me know what Sophia &co. are planning. I’ll help if I can. I’m magical too, btw._

_Well, that was quite a letter,_ Morgana thinks sourly as she goes to sleep. 

The atmosphere in the house is strained, as expected. Uther is a silent, looming presence and even when he doesn’t seem to be doing or saying anything in particular, Morgana feels she can cut the air around them with a knife. She feels a tingling under her skin. It’s only now, after the visit at professor Alice’s, that she realizes the feeling which has always accompanied her in moments of anxiety is actually her magic, hidden and strained like overworked muscles, waiting to act or erupt. And since Uther has invited Gaius for dinner, Morgana’s doubly anxious.

For as long as she could remember, Gaius would come to their family home from time to time, usually on an occasion of someone’s birthday or Christmas, and he’d bring gifts to the children. He has always been a rather kindly uncle, but his presence made Morgana uncomfortable, even before she realized what discomfort means. It’s only now that she can recognize the possible source of all that – the hidden strain between the two of them, a strain of two magical beings who, knowingly or not, suppress their own magic while creating an atmosphere of guilt and oppression all around them.  
Morgana excuses herself pretty quickly, on account of tiredness. She doesn’t wish to spend any more time with Gaius, but also, she doesn’t want him to catch her on involuntary glances she shoots in his direction. She can’t help but wonder if his magic can manifest itself in any way. After so many years of successful repression, it must be deeply hidden.

Morgana walks back to her room and locks the door behind her.

Then, she texts Freya.

The response doesn’t come immediately. Only when it’s already around 11 p.m., and Morgana unsuccessfully tries to fall asleep (all the time worrying if Arthur and Merlin are safe), her phone buzzes with response.

_Hi Morgana. Thanks for texting. Aulfric & Sophia are pretty livid. But they didn’t try to break into Arthur’s place. They worked out he can’t be there. Didn’t tell them anything, tho. Welcome to the magic club!_

Morgana smiles, thinking of Merlin and his embrace. She needed it so much, she didn’t even realize.

_I saw ur speech from the MagicCon, she writes. Loved it._

The response comes very quickly this time.

_R u on Magical Women fb group?_

_Yes, though a different name. Morgana LeFay. Didn’t want to attract attention with Pendragon._

_No wonder. Oh I know who u are. U asked about ur symptoms last week._

_Yes. Someone recced ur video._

The someone was a certain Morgause Gorlois. She’s been pretty active on the group since the day Morgana joined, and after the breech, when the internet erupted with discussion, her posts were the ones Morgana read most eagerly. Morgause was very anti-Magic Now, and pretty combative in general, but she never made empty threats, or pushed for meaningless violence. Only yesterday, she wrote a lengthy post on the subject.

**Morgause Gorlois writes:** _As the Triskelion and the MagicCon people are organizing a protest in solidarity with Magic Now’s victims, it’s good to remind ourselves what we’ll be there for. We are fighting for the magical people. We are fighting to delegalize Magic Now’s practices which are inhumane and demeaning. We are NOT fighting for retribution. We do NOT want to demean Uther Pendragon, but we want him to step down. There is an argument to be made that no social movement has ever achieved anything without minor acts of violence. That’s why I don’t condemn the breech, that’s why I won’t object if we use strong language during our protest, or if someone draws a graffiti on MN Camelot HQ. I don’t think they will suffer greatly if they lose one ore two windows, too. But please, no more than that. We have the right to be angry. But we don’t want the media to say yet again that we’re unstable and dangerous. Please, don’t give ammunition to our opponents. Believe me, I’d be the first to fight Uther Pendragon and his army of associates and therapists with bare hands, but I know I can’t afford to be foolish._

Morgana liked the post. 

_BTW,_ she writes to Freya, _R u coming to this protest?_

_Yes, I’ll be there._

_Idk what to do. I don’t want to be on the other side. I can’t afford not coming to MN at all. Idk._

The protest is two days from now. It’s still curious Sophia or Edwin haven’t called it off, given that they probably fear being exposed. But maybe, after all, they aren’t the only active forces in the magical community. By this point, Morgana has read enough about the organizers of the MagicCon to know that there is a whole cohort of people grouped around professor Alice who’s been trying to change the public image of the magicals for years.

Freya doesn’t write back. Morgana sighs. There is no good option left for me in all this, she thinks.

***

_Uther is staring at her. His jaw is tense, his lips set in a firm line. He looks tired, older. He has blue circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept for days. Morgana falters under his scrutinizing gaze._

_Only… no, he doesn’t stare at Morgana after all, he stares THROUGH her, looking at someone who’s standing behind her. Morgana, though she feels dazed and her movements are slow and sloppy, turns around to see who’s deserving of such a piercing look._

_And she sees Arthur._

_He’s pale, blinking nervously, and he looks as if he’s been crying for a long time. In fact, he’s barely standing on his feet._

_Frantically, Morgana tries to assess the situation. She doesn’t get any sense of space; Arthur and Uther seem to be surrounded by a shapeless darkness, as if Morgana’s dream was making a point of not showing her where the scene is taking place. In spite of the darkness, Morgana can see Arthur and Uther clearly. There is a movement behind Arthur, and somebody’s hand clasps Arthur’s arm._

_“Get out of the way,” Uther says, and Morgana tries not to scream. Not that her screaming would do anything. Nobody can see her._

_“No,” Arthur responds, his voice thick with emotion. “Leave him alone.”_

_Uther is surging forward, as if he wanted to either shove Arthur out of the way, or choke him. Morgana puts her hand between them, but Uther’s hands go through hers as if she was a ghost._

_And then, Arthur’s eyes go red._

Morgana wakes up with a scream.

***

_Merlin._

He’s been dreaming of butterflies, and of rings – butterflies with rings on their tiny bodies? No, that’s not right. There was also some driving, and a dark road, and…

_God, why are you so beautiful, Merlin?_

He opens one eye. The left one. His right eye is somewhere, he’s sure of it, but it must have been lost between a duvet and a blanket. 

The voice sounded in his head. It definitely did.

And now, all his left eye can see is Arthur, yanking away from him in panic, his face really close and then, suddenly away. He hears a thud as Arthur probably falls back, his butt to the floor.

“You were thinking at me again,” Merlin mutters into the duvet. “Creeper.”

“Sorry.” Arthur’s voice is broken, and Merlin sighs.

“I’ll have to teach you to think inwardly.”

“I wanted to wake you up anyway. I made breakfast.”

The day before, they did actually find jam and cornflakes, but there isn’t really much one can make with jam and cornflakes, apart from putting them into a bowl and eating them. There’s also tea, and Arthur now stands up, turning his back to Merlin and fumbling with a kettle in the kitchen corner.

He’s only wearing his boxers. Merlin swallows. He didn’t have the chance to give Arthur’s chest a proper look before, and now, in the grey light of the morning, Merlin regrets he’s not a sculptor, because this torso definitely deserves to be sculpted. 

“Thank you… for yesterday,” says Arthur suddenly, his voice a bit muffled.

“Which part?” Merlin asks, trying to sound as light as possible. “Coming up with a preposterous plan instead of just taking you to the police? Or the kisses?”

“No, for comforting me.” Arthur turns to him, a green ceramic bowl in hand. The jam and cornflakes inside are a big orange-red mass, and they must taste much better than they look. 

Merlin looks up at Arthur’s face. His eyes are a bit puffy, as can be expected of a person who lulled themselves to sleep with tears. Still, he seems much more rested than yesterday.

Merlin sits on the bed as Arthur passes him the bowl.

“Strawberry. Mm.”

“You realize,” Arthur says suddenly, his face sober, “that if we go to the police, there might be charges against you?”

Merlin’s hand freezes, a spoon full of cornflakes halfway to his mouth.

“I guess so,” he says carefully. What does Arthur want?

“Well, that’s why we’re not going to the police. They won’t understand you made a mistake. And it would ruin the magical community’s reputation, besides.”

Merlin crunches the cornflakes viciously. Arthur sits beside him, clutching his own bowl with breakfast.

“Stupid Edwin and Sophia,” Merlin says. “And Aulfric. There was a dozen less illegal ways of obtaining that video. It wasn’t about justice. It was about petty revenge.”

“I think you, of all people, would understand how sometimes people can snap when they’re being constantly oppressed,” Arthur says. “I mean, if I were you… If I were in my mum’s shoes… I would have killed someone. I would.”

Arthur’s eyes are reddened again. It seems, once he finally managed to cry, he can’t really stop. Merlin puts his bowl down and cups Arthur’s face with his hands.

“We’ll find her, okay?”

“How?” Arthur asks. “We have zero contact with the world. We can’t turn on our phones. We have no internet access. How, Merlin?”

“Morgana will help us. And I have magic.”

“And what, this suddenly makes you a tracking expert? For God’s sake, you got lost on our way here _twice_.”

“I can try out something new,” Merlin says. “I have the ring now, remember? I can finally test my powers. In fact, I think that’s exactly what I’ll be doing today. I’ll go somewhere desolate and test myself.”

Arthur turns his head slightly, kissing Merlin’s palm. Just one small gesture like that – and Merlin is completely disarmed. It feels like electricity is going through his body, reaching even the tips of his fingers. It feels suspiciously alike to magic.

“Right,” Arthur says. “Just don’t make too much noise, will you? I don’t want anyone to find you. I bet other magicals can sense you, or something.”

“I’ll be careful,” Merlin says, then adds a little timidly: “You can come along, if you like. We’ll have to figure out this thinking thing anyway.”

“Thanks for the invite. Well, I definitely don’t intend to spend God knows how many days cramped in this tiny space, so a walk would be appreciated.”

“Oh, but I bet you like tiny spaces,” Merlin teases. He doesn’t know why he’s saying this. He shouldn’t, not after telling Arthur last night that they still needed time.

“For now,” Arthur says. “After a while, the atmosphere might be a bit… tense.”

Merlin sighs. Arthur’s right. If they don’t want to regret their decisions afterwards, they’d better spend most of today outside, talking and healing, and getting to know each other, rather than constantly fighting the temptation to snog each other senseless in some corner. Merlin’s magic wants to cling to Arthur like a stray cat and it’s good that he has the ring to control it a little. It’s high time he tested the ring’s abilities before something disastrous happens.

“We won’t be here very long,” says Merlin firmly. “I promise. You know… after a few days, Sophia and Edwin would realize nobody’s speaking up against them. Maybe they’d let it go.”

“You don’t believe it yourself, do you?”

Merlin sighs. “I hope Freya would help, at least. Though I don’t really know what she can do.”

Arthur smiles faintly. “Let’s not think about it all at least for a day, shall we?” he says. “I think we can afford that, right?”

“A day? Sure.”

“We need to go shopping. Does this decrepit little village have a shop?”

“You know, it’s not exactly decrepit.” Merlin chances to nudge Arthur’s knee. Arthur nudges back.

“Come on, princess,” he says. “Dress yourself, and we’re going for a little trip. You’ll show me the sights.”

“Right.” Merlin takes their bowls and leaves them in the tiny kitchen sink. 

Arthur surprises him, standing behind him and putting his arms on his shoulders. His warm chest presses to Merlin’s back.

“Arthur, what I said yesterday…” Merlin starts, but Arthur squeezes his arm gently and whispers:

“I know, I know. You’re right. Just… I’ll be waiting for you outside, okay?” He ruffles Merlin’s hair and kisses him lightly on the cheek. Then, he walks out into the corridor, bending over his enormous suitcase and turning his back to Merlin.

Merlin looks at him, and it’s entirely possible that at this very moment, his eyes might be just a bit gold. The warmth he feels in his right hand – the hand bearing the ring – is comforting and sure of itself. It’s as if his own magic wanted to cheer him up. Merlin flaps his hands gently. 

The butterfly from yesterday will have a new companion.

***

Merlin realizes a slight problem when they are about to go out. 

He rummages through a tiny closet in the corridor, looking for clothes. Will sometimes used to leave some of his stuff in the caravan, so as not to bother bringing a large bag when he came here. The clothes Merlin finds, however, are far from perfect – some faded t-shirts with the names of bands he never listened to, or forgotten colorful Hawaiian shirts nobody in their right mind would wear. _Where did he even get that stuff from?_ Will’s sense of fashion has never been great, but it wasn’t that bad.

Preoccupied with his new problem, Merlin doesn’t realize Arthur’s standing behind him. Well, it isn’t really hard to find himself face to face with him in this tiny space.

“Why are you contemplating the cupboard, _Mer_ lin?” Arthur asks. “It’s a place where you can put things. Truly ingenious, isn’t it?”

“I have nothing to wear,” Merlin says, miserably. Arthur ducks his head to see the closet’s contents, and promptly snorts.

“Come on, don’t you want this one? Green palms on bright yellow, Merlin, it’ll do wonders for your complexion.”

Merlin shoots him a glance so miserable that Arthur’s face visibly melts from mockery to fond exasperation.

“I’ll lend you something of mine,” he says. “Don’t you worry.”

“Oh, come on,” Merlin sighs, miserably. “I’ll look ridiculous. Your… chest. It’s broader than mine.”

Arthur laughs. “Good of you to have noticed. Better too big than too small, eh? Oh, come on, _Mer_ lin, don’t tell me you’re planning to spend God knows how long inside, running around shirtless.”

As if catching himself on what he’s just said, Arthur’s face goes pink. Merlin can’t help but grin.

“No, I won’t do that to you,” he says. “Judging by your looks, you might get a heart attack.”

Arthur’s red t-shirt indeed hangs a bit too loosely on Merlin, but the moment he puts it on, he doesn’t mind. The cotton fabric is soft and screams _I’ve been bought in a store you’d never afford to walk into,_ but just for once, Merlin lets himself relish the softness instead of being scandalized by the expense. _If I had only shirts like that, I wouldn’t need to worry I’d be all scratchy when my magic makes my skin tingle._

And the shirt smells of Arthur. Which is a scent Merlin can’t quite put his finger on: something in between the fresh camomile soap, a sharp scent of perfume (Merlin can’t really say what’s in it, but it’s perfect, not too suffocating and not too bland), and… something, something which can only be Arthur himself. Merlin burrows his nose in the soft fabric, not even trying to conceal it, and the look Arthur gives him makes him regret he doesn’t have a camera. He should have a photo taken and framed, and should look at it every time he feels like a broken person. Because if someone can look at him like that, then surely, he’s not that broken and useless?

They go to the shops first. The day is sunny, though it’s getting colder, and Merlin shivers a little under his light coat. As they walk down the street – the only real street in Ealdor, as all the rest are private driveways – Arthur looks around curiously, probably trying to spot any signs of civilization. For Merlin, Ealdor is civilized enough – really, there are houses, and electricity, and even a shop with a pharmacy attached. People here have everything they need, but Merlin has a sinking feeling that without a cinema, a highway and one or two skyscrapers, Arthur won’t consider the place properly civilized anyway.

“So, is there anything of interest in the area?” Arthur asks as they’re coming back from the store, their bags full of supplies which aren’t jam and cornflakes. “Some sights, maybe?”

Merlin sighs. A stunning nature reserve would probably be the only possible redeeming feature of Ealdor in Arthur’s eyes, but he can’t really say there’s anything quite so exceptional in these parts. The village lies on top of a small hill, and from beside the shop which has been built on the highest spot of that hill, one could see a stretch of land which, with some degree of plausible deniability, could be called moors. Though it’s more of a meadow, really. There is a woodlet a mile away, and some of the tourist tracks are quite picturesque. If one were to venture there in the midst of spring on a sunny day, one would find oneself surrounded by hay and flowers. When Merlin was a kid, he used to observe the butterflies in the meadow. It’s possible it was an inspiration for his own creations, actually. But now, autumn is coming, and there’s less and less greenery around.

“Nothing special,” Merlin says. “But I guess, walking around is better than sitting in one place. I’ll show you the wood and the meadows. It’s quite atmospheric. Though I’m sure it doesn’t compare to the places you used to visit on your holidays.”

Arthur shrugs. “I guess. Though, you know, even a beach on Mallorca isn’t that nice when you have a constantly angry father and a bratty sister by your side.”

Merlin smiles crookedly. “Please, don’t tell me now that _I make every place beautiful by my mere presence_ ,” he says.

Arthur scoffs. “Oh, come on, _Mer_ lin. I know you’re sentimental, but this was rich even for you.”

“Admit it. You like it. You look at me like I puke rainbows and unicorns sometimes.”

“You wish.”

“Admit it!”

Arthur shoots Merlin a fond glance. They left the supplies in the caravan and are now slowly walking past the last houses in Ealdor, heading in the direction of the forest.

“All right, all right,” Arthur says. “You do have a certain… unicorn-like quality about you.”

“By which you mean…?”

“Lemme think… your infinite clumsiness and your ability to get yourself into trouble?”

“Arthur, I’m serious.”

They stop. The wood is a dark line on the horizon. The day started out chilly and is getting even chillier, a nasty wind blowing through the meadow. Merlin tucks his fists into the pockets of his coat. With such cold, he’d better manage to fashion some magical warming spell. Merlin bets his nose and ears – especially the ears – are red like hot iron by this point.

He really does mean the question. The more time he spends with Arthur, the more he looks at him, the more he’s convinced that this man can have anyone. Even given his complicated relationship with emotions and the slight touch of prat-ness – Arthur could pick and choose if he wanted. And he probably has been doing that for quite some time. Why does he spare a second glance for Merlin? Maybe it’s some twisted fascination with magic after all? An affinity for the freaky?

Arthur, too, seems to have realized the seriousness behind Merlin’s question, because his face sobers and the playful flicker’s gone from his eyes.

“I like your kindness,” he says finally, when Merlin’s already starting to despair a little. “I like how you’re still full of energy, despite all the heavy shit you went through. I don’t know how you do that, honestly. And I like your conviction, the way you want to fight for what’s right. Yeah, I guess that’s it.”

Merlin swallows. He’s not going to cry, is he? No, that would be stupid. He’s not going…

“Hey.” Arthur closes the distance between them. He puts his index finger to Merlin’s cheek, wiping something. A tear. Merlin won’t even try fooling himself it’s just the wind that got it there.

Merlin hugs Arthur fiercely, pressing his head to Arthur’s broad shoulder, almost exactly like the day before with Morgana, only this time, it’s not about solidarity in the face of hardship, it’s about something more. Merlin doesn’t have the guts to name it, not yet. But it’s there, settled firmly in his chest.

“What do you like about me?” Arthur asks quietly.

“You’re true to yourself, and brave. You were quick to challenge your father for what you thought was right. And you’re good with people, no matter what the others may say.”

“Has it occurred to you that I might just be good with you, Merlin?”

Merlin raises his head, his gaze meeting Arthur’s. The other man isn’t crying, but Merlin knows he had a fair share of tears last night already. 

“Maybe,” Merlin says. “But that’s just as well for me, I guess.”

“Wow, so many big words,” Arthur sighs shakily, his whole chest deflating under Merlin’s grip. “I’m surprised you never said you like me because I’m gorgeous.”

“Well, that’s cause it’s obvious. No need to pump up your ego even more.” _At least with this one, you know your worth,_ Merlin thinks. Because he really knows that in any other respect, Arthur doesn’t value his true worth nearly sufficiently.

Arthur smiles as if he heard Merlin’s thoughts. Which he probably did, anyway.

“You’re gorgeous too, you know,” Arthur says. “I nearly passed out when I saw you first.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Really? With all my elbows and my ears?”

“I like your ears,” Arthur says, genuinely offended, and Merlin has to laugh.

“Good grief, you’re in a bad way. _You like my ears._ You sure you haven’t drunk any love potion by any chance?”

“Are they even a thing?”

“No, I don’t think so. At least, I never heard. We have to ask professor Alice.”

Arthur kisses Merlin on the forehead.

“Now, we either have to head home, or you need to warm us up,” Arthur says. “It’s bloody cold. Do you know any more spells? I heard you muttering something yesterday, when you changed the color of my car.”

“Yeah, I know some. Edwin… no matter what he did, he was rather nice to me, you know. Gave me a spell book. I managed to learn a few.”

“Time to try them out, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

After half an hour of practicing magic in the woods – the whole phrase sounding like something straight out of a fantasy book, Arthur realizes – Merlin establishes that he can now muster his magic enough to make them warm without burning them to a crisp, and that, when he’s relaxed in Arthur’s company and not ashamed of flapping hands or jumping, he can make butterflies, create images in the mist, or even briefly change the color of the leaves. He can’t scry, however – that being, as it turns out, another magical ability which Merlin used to have the predisposition for, but which he never managed to perfect. That would definitely explain why they lost their way to Ealdor the day before. Healing powers also seem to be outside of Merlin’s grasp. With a somber face, he tries to quicken the process of healing on one of his more recent cuts (Arthur can’t watch this, so he devotes his full attention to the trees), but nothing happens. This leads to a short lecture on how magic can help with healing, but by no means is a miraculous way to cure every illness.

The training session – or, as Merlin called it, the trial-and-error-session – is concluded by the most spectacular ability of them all, that is, levitation. When Merlin suddenly leaps up five feet into the sky, Arthur can’t help himself and catches his hand. Merlin looks at him, surprised, and Arthur mumbles:

“Don’t want you to fly away like a stupid balloon.”

Merlin laughs. “Don’t worry. This ring’s really great. I can feel my magic concentrated, you know. It’s hard to explain… but sometimes, when I’ve been stressed, I felt it disperse, crawl under my skin like a million worms. A very nasty feeling, honestly. Used to make my skin feel super sensitive. A common enough experience for the magicals. Now… well, it’s not like it stopped being entirely sensitive, but I can go past that and focus on the magic.” As he’s saying this, Merlin slowly lowers himself, until at last his feet touch the ground. Only then does Arthur let go of his hand.

“So, does it mean that every magical is, like, more sensitive than average?”

“Some of them are. Others seem less so. I’m one of the more sensitive ones, at least when it comes to sound.”

“How does it work?” Arthur asks. “We’re in the woods. I can hear the wind, and the leaves rustling, though only when I pay attention. There is a bird calling in the distance, but that’s pretty much it. You hear anything else, then?”

Merlin gives him a short look and closes his eyes. For a moment, his face looks pensive, super concentrated, with a furrowed brow and a twitch of muscle around his lips. After a few seconds, it relaxes into perfect serenity, and the smile appears, making dimples in Merlin’s cheeks.

“Oh, Arthur,” he says, sighing, his voice suddenly very tiny.

“Well?”

“It’s just a small wood, but when you really focus… everything here is so full of life. Every tree, every leaf, every insect… It’s as if the world is vibrating. As if everything is much more than itself.”

“You hear things _vibrating_?”

“Don’t you?”

“Nope.”

Merlin sighs, a bit resigned. He still doesn’t open his eyes.

“I don’t know how to describe it. At first I don’t really hear much, but the more I listen, the more sensitive my ears become. The rustle of the leaves is as loud as the traffic on a highway. The bird singing sounds like it’s through a megaphone. I can hear the ants walking, the insects crawling… There is a snake two feet from us, so be careful. It slithers in our direction. I can hear the trees creaking under the wind, as if talking to each other… The moss on their barks is whispering something, only, I don’t know the language… Oh, gods above… I can hear the trees _growing_.” Merlin suddenly winces. He puts his hands to his head. “Shit, it’s too much.”

“Open your eyes.” Arthur grabs Merlin’s arms. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Merlin does. His eyes are watery. For a moment, he tries to look directly into Arthur’s eyes, then averts his sight. He’s breathing short, shallow breaths.

“Your eyes… are deep like wells,” Merlin says, shifting uncomfortably. “I can’t look.”

“Then don’t. Just don’t close your eyes. Breathe, Merlin. In and out, in and out.”

Slowly, very slowly, Merlin’s breath evens and a soft smile returns to his face. He shoots Arthur a quick glance.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to do that. I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“No, it’s all right. It was very uplifting and good… until it became too much. I used to calm myself down this way, centering my magic. I guess I overdid it. I’ve become used to wearing the bloody suppressing bracelet. Forgot I don’t have it any more and my senses aren’t dulled.”

“Let’s walk for a bit. Are you okay with that?”

Merlin nods.

“So,” Arthur starts again as they are slowly strolling through the meadow in the direction of Ealdor, “you’re saying many magicals would have a similar experience in this forest?”

“Probably. Though as I said, not all of them. And there are people who won’t hear that much, but they’d see every color more intense than anyone else. Or smell the tiniest smells. Or feel the touch of everything twofold. Some would see colors when they hear sounds. Some would see time, others would smell the touch. There are dozens of possibilities.”

“So much variety,” Arthur mumbles, looking into the distance, where the hill slowly descends. The houses of Ealdor are like matchboxes on the horizon. “And to think I’ve always believed there’s just one way to be magical.”

Merlin shrugs. “Not your fault.”

“I know. Speaking of variety: what about my _thinking_ at you? We have to do something about it. Do you think… that maybe…” Arthur wants to say _that maybe I’m just a bit magical because my mother was_ , but he can’t bring himself to say the words. Merlin knows it, anyway.

“I wish we had the internet here,” Merlin sighs. “I don’t know enough to really explain it. The only thing I know, is that your father’s right in one point: magic _is_ connected to genetics. Thus, if one of the parents is magical, the probability of magic in the child is higher. But it’s not a given. I only know that your _thinking_ … it wasn’t the bracelet’s doing. No matter how boastful Aulfric is, he can’t tamper with your brain like that. If anything, it only facilitated something which was already in you.”

“Do you think that being partly magical might be a thing?” Arthur asks.

“I don’t know. There are some people who are, so to say, more receptive towards magic. Doesn’t mean they’re magical, though. You know, one of the most infuriating things I used to hear from people was _oh, but aren’t we all a little bit magic?_ You know, all those people who think they are _a bit_ because somebody called them when they were thinking about this person and it was uncanny, or because their mind was playing tricks on them and they thought they saw a ghost in the dark…” Merlin’s voice is half-mocking, half-irritated, and Arthur puts a hand on his arm.

“Your point being?”

“Well, that all such claims are ridiculous, because they try to invalidate the magical experience. Even if those people really share one or two things with the magicals, that doesn’t mean they have magic, too. There are many more criteria to be met for someone to be magical than just seeing something uncanny once or twice. That being said, some people are just more sensitive than others. They might see eye to eye with the magicals because they can understand their experience more, or because they are good at observation. It’s possible that you’re one of them.”

“Can’t it be that, magic being a kind of a spectrum, I’m just somewhere on a far end of that spectrum? A borderline case of sorts?”

Merlin sighs again. “I wish it were that simple. It isn’t about who has more and who has less magic. How do you even measure that? You’ve seen it yourself: I can levitate, a gift which is apparently pretty rare and special, and yet, I can’t heal, and I don’t have prophetic dreams. Morgana is a seer, but she can’t turn her dress a different color. Freya can turn into a cat, but she can’t levitate a glass of water no matter how many times she tries. Who has more magic? Who has less? How can you tell?”

“Point taken,” Arthur mutters. “But still, the fact is, _I can hear you in my head_. Can we do anything about it?”

“Not much without some access to professor Alice’s research, but I’ll do my best. You know, there are magicals out there who only communicate telepathically. Professor Alice has been developing a training program for parents to learn how to hear their kids’ thoughts. Which is equally about attuning oneself to hearing as it is about guarding the thoughts we don’t want to be heard. Now, I think we need to start with some simple relaxation…”

And that’s how the late morning turns into the lunchtime, and then into the afternoon, with them just sitting in the meadow, wrapped in Merlin’s warm magic, learning to breathe evenly and visualizing protective walls around their minds, or, if they want their thoughts to be heard, gates that open and invite the ideas inside or outside. The exercises which, at first, Arthur was certain would be really dull and tedious, turn out to be engrossing and the time passes so quickly he only realizes it must be around three o’clock when his stomach gives a warning rumble. By this point, he’s managed to think at least some of his Merlin-related thoughts inwardly, with others still slipping through his grasp – but it’s at least a start. 

“I’m terribly hungry,” Arthur says. “We need to get back.”

“All right.” Merlin stands up, giving him a hand. “You did very well today.”

“Thank you. Such rare words to hear.” Arthur makes a crooked smile.

“It’s high time you heard them more often.”

And then, Merlin just looks at him so kindly and fondly that Arthur’s hand almost involuntarily goes to his face. Merlin’s cheek is warm from his magic and so soft, only slightly touched by the stubble. He automatically leans into Arthur’s hand, closing his eyes, smiling, like a cat who’s gracefully receiving its petting, almost purring.

 _I’m in love with you, I really am_ , Arthur thinks, because he can’t say it, his mouth is still too cowardly for that.

Merlin’s eyes shot open.

“You… You are…,” he starts, his cheeks coloring, his voice choking.

“Shh.” Arthur puts his pointing finger to Merlin’s mouth. “I know what I thought. I did it on purpose.”

And then Merlin is there, right in his arms, kissing him, and their tongues entwine. It’s very soft and tender, but that doesn’t mean there is no passion. It’s the truest thing that can happen to them now. The simplest conclusion to the whole day. Arthur puts his hands on Merlin’s hips, feeling his warmth, taking it in. Loving every second of being close to him. Longing for more.

When Arthur’s stomach rumbles again, Merlin smiles into his mouth.

“Lunch?” he asks.

“Lunch.” Arthur nods. “And after…” He wants to ask isn’t it too early? – but he doesn’t dare. For him, this whole day was so eye-opening, he feels as if many days have passed.

Merlin bites on Arthur’s lower lip, surprising a gasp out of him.

“I don’t think there’s much point in holding back any longer,” he says. “We’re going to snog, don’t you worry.”

***

The day after Arthur’s and Merlin’s departure, Morgana receives a call from Mordred’s father.

“Miss Pendragon,” a tired voice says. “We’ve already called the clinic, but I thought it would be right to inform you. With the recent breech and all that… well, we decided to pull Mordred out of therapy. There are concerns for his privacy. I’m sure you’d understand.”

Morgana is left speechless.

That’s probably partly what Sophia and Edwin actually wanted; they firmly believed that if there was a choice between no therapy at all and Magic Now, then it’s better to choose nothing.

But of course, in Morgana’s situation, things are totally different.

A dozen thoughts run through her mind: that it might be a disaster for Mordred to stop the sessions right now; that she understands his parents and would do the same if she were in their position; that in order to have Mordred back, she’d have to defend Magic Now and she desperately doesn’t want to do it.

 _All those kids who are now going to be pulled out_ , she realizes. _Father could be ruined._

That must have been the plan all along.

It obviously isn’t a perfect solution. There is no real alternative to Magic Now. There is literally a handful of psychologists who follow professor Alice’s directives, but not everyone is going to find one of those. There are others, who, more or less disastrously, are emulating Magic Now’s program. And there are dozens of wacky pseudo-specialists with their own weird “methods” who claim that they can “cure” magic through special diet, or positive thinking, or fuck knows what else.

If Mordred ends up in such “specialist’s” hands, everything she’s built is going to pieces.

“Miss Pendragon, are you there?”

“Yes. Sorry. Is there any chance you’d reconsider?” Morgana asks, without really counting on anything. “I think we are at an important milestone with Mordred right now, and it would be highly inadvisable to stop the process right now.”

That’s how Gaius must have sounded when Merlin’s mum was pulling him out of therapy, Morgana realizes and grinds her teeth. But it’s all for Mordred. She has to fight for the kid.

“I’m afraid my mind is made,” says Mordred’s father. “I just wanted to inform you. It seemed… honest.”

“I appreciate that. Maybe…,” Morgana’s thoughts run in her head in double speed now, and she feels her magic – what she knows now is her magic – rushing through her. “…maybe, if the safety is your main concern, you’d agree to the continuation of the sessions in your family home? I do not wish to impose on you, of course… but I do really care for Mordred’s wellbeing. His safety is a primary concern for you as well as for me.”

There is a brief pause on the other end.

“I will have to think about that,” Mordred’s father says finally.

“Please do. I won’t press you. Maybe I can get back to you tomorrow?”

“All right, till tomorrow then. But I don’t promise anything. I sometimes work from home, and I’m not sure there is enough space for whatever you are doing there.”

“I can adjust my schedule to accommodate you.”

“I will let you know tomorrow. Goodbye, miss Pendragon.”

“Goodbye, mister Cerdan.”

When she puts her phone back into her bag, Morgana realizes her hand’s shaking. Till tomorrow. She wishes she could have a prophetic dream whenever she wants to, because she can’t bear to wait in this anxiety.

***

What Morgana predicted during the conversation with Mordred’s father turned out to be mostly true. Some of the parents pulled their children out of therapy right after the breech, when Morgana was still trying to wrap her head around the whole situation; then, she got entangled in the Arthur-related drama and lost the therapies out of sight for a full day; now, as she walks into the clinic, it hits her doubly.

At the reception, Gwen gives her a worried look. Morgana sees her for the first time since the breech and she notices how terrified she seems. _She must be thinking it was all her fault, she has the access to the records_ , Morgana realizes. _She must be sure she’s going to be fired at any moment._

“I’m afraid all of the appointments for today have been cancelled,” Gwen mutters without so much as saying hello. “Some of the parents sent us hate mail. You know, about us… torturing their kids while we weren’t looking. Others don’t care about the video, but they care about security. There is only a handful of those who don’t care about either.”

Morgana shoots her a worried glance and reaches through her desk, tapping her on the shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault, Gwen,” she says.

Gwen looks at her, and the last remnants of her attempted composure are gone from her face.

“How can you be sure?” she asks, her voice cracking. A tear escapes from her eye and she reaches for a tissue to wipe it. “I… in my mind, I went through all I’ve done before closing up for the weekend like, a million times. I can’t for the love of God remember if I logged out or not. I just… can’t. And that’s unprofessional. But then, there weren’t any signs of break-in into the clinic. So…”

“ _It wasn’t your fault_ ,” Morgana says, pressingly. _Oh, I wish I could just tell her._ “One thing we know, is that it was done remotely. Your logging out or not had nothing to do with that.”

“How can you know?”

“Dad talked to some IT guys and they basically confirmed it,” Morgana lies. Actually, she’d have to talk to Uther about Gwen. It’s a miracle he hasn’t sacked her already, probably also having been wrapped up in Arthur. She has to convince him not to do it. Somehow.

Well, it’s really no wonder Uther didn’t even have time to think about a possible rat in the company. He had to fight Arthur, issue a statement and find someone instead of Arthur to read it. In the end, the statement was given to Leon who read it with an aura of completely detached, matter-of-fact, I’m-just-following-orders attitude. Which didn’t help them much.

“I… I watched the video,” says Gwen suddenly. “The one that’s leaked. I mean… I’ve never actually seen any of those. I’m just a secretary, I catalogue them and that’s it. But this…” Gwen swallows, looking at her hands, folded in her lap. “This was… I don’t want to offend, but…”

“It’s all right,” Morgana says quickly. “I won’t be offended. It was monstrous.”

Gwen looks up at her, her eyes wide. “I think I might be actually looking for a different job,” she says simply. “Even if I’m not getting fired from here.”

Morgana just gives her one long look.

“I wish I had this choice,” she says honestly. “I wish I could afford that.” She wants to add _I wish I could just stop caring and become a rebellious child just as Arthur is_ , but she stops herself. She has no idea how much of Uther’s disagreement with Arthur has gotten to other employees. It’s very probable that for now, his absence has been written off as some unplanned, mysterious time off.

Gwen looks at Morgana, suddenly pitying. “There is always a choice,” she says simply.

Morgana doesn’t say anything to that. She looks at Gwen, pensive.

“Gwen,” she says, suddenly resolved, “could you answer one question for me? How far do the records of this clinic go?”

Gwen shrugs. “Well, as far as the clinic in its current shape exists. Twenty years.”

“And there is nothing from earlier dates?”

Gwen shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. Back then, nothing was really digital anyway. I think they didn’t bother to digitize the old records when they created this new clinic. The records must have been destroyed after some time. Or, they went to some archive, but I don’t know anything about that.”

“Thank you, Gwen. You’re a wonder.” Morgana squeezes her arm again, walking past her desk. Gwen looks at her, incomprehension in her eyes. 

_If Gaius conducted Igraine’s therapy, then there must have been records_ , Morgana thinks, walking into her office. _Gaius is a legalist. He wouldn’t do anything without proper paperwork. And I bet Dad kept the records. He’d need proof Igraine was “uncurable”, just in case._

But where could those records be? In Uther’s safe, along with any other potentially important stuff?

Morgana sighs and prepares herself for her first phone call of the day. She’ll have to talk to all those parents who decided to cancel their kids’ appointments.

In two days’ time, she’ll have another visit to professor Alice. She’ll need to ask her a few questions. A timeline will have to be established. In all probability, Alice was already out of Uther and Gaius’ project when problems with Igraine started. Otherwise, Morgana would have remembered Alice as Gaius’ wife. 

It won’t hurt to ask, though. Maybe the professor knows something.

But before Morgana is able to think about the way she’s going to ask the question – before she’s able to make any call about the therapies – she hears a low roar outside the window, and then, a muffled sound of someone speaking through a megaphone.

It’s the magical protest. It has begun.


	3. Chapter 3

“However lovely your company is, Merlin, I’m a bit scared we’re going to be bored to death in here.”

Arthur’s voice is back to his normal, snarky self. Merlin smiles, remembering how just a few minutes ago, it was so soft and vulnerable, when Arthur kissed his face all over, bit on his throat and cupped his arse, drawing their cocks together. Merlin’s magic pulsated and entwined them in a grip almost impossible to break, scaring Merlin out of his wits, because for a moment he thought they’d be forced to just stay like that, embraced, for all eternity. Not that he seemed to mind, at least for a while. The thing was though, they were both hungry. They had to make some lunch. As Merlin’s stomach rumbled, his magic finally let go.

“Your magic is like caffeine,” Arthur said.

“Why? Does it make you twitchy and anxious?”

“No.” Arthur laughed, one of his purest, most ridiculous and infective laughs. “It energizes me.”

“Should I be worried? I do want to rest from time to time, you know.”

The lunchmaking turned out to be a heating a veggie lasagna in a microwave, a thing Arthur wasn’t very happy about, but conceded to on the basis of hunger. And now, they’re both full almost to sickness, sitting together on the bed, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, and it’s perfectly nice and happy, only, there isn’t really much else to do.

“Does this TV work?” Arthur asks, pointing to the corner where a rather ancient and tiny screen is lurking at them with its hollow black eye.

“I don’t know. Could check. Really, you want TV? Will must’ve left some books somewhere as well. Wouldn’t you prefer that?”

“I’d prefer the internet. But a man can’t have everything, I suppose.”

“Admit it. You’re tempted to look up for traces of your mum,” Merlin says, warily. He doesn’t want to reopen any wounds. But Arthur doesn’t look very affected.

“Yeah,” he says simply.

“You do realize she could have changed her name or something? Really, I think Morgana would have a much better chance of finding out what’s happened.”

“I just hate being idle, Merlin. Hate it.”

Merlin laughs, burying his head in Arthur’s shoulder. It’s so nice to be doing it just like that, not having to think if Arthur would mind.

“We’ve been here for a day, Arthur, and you’re already going crazy because of the idleness? Man, you really are a workaholic.”

“That’s exactly what Sophia said,” Arthur remarks, glumly. Merlin swallows and looks at him, their faces close.

“Hey, I’m sorry. But you really need some rest, after everything that’s happened. A week at the minimum.”

“Yeah, but the perspective of lying down and staring at the ceiling isn’t really what I think of when I want rest.”

“And who said you’re going go be staring at the ceiling?” Merlin asks in a playful tone, brushing his fingers through Arthur’s hair. Arthur’s face goes pinkish.

“With my belly full of lasagna, I’m really not sure it’s a good idea,” he mumbles, but leans into Merlin’s touch almost automatically.

And Merlin realizes he feels completely safe and comfortable. He trusts Arthur now, and that is a very good sign. Experimentally, he wills his magic to travel to his fingers, and produce some extra warmth as he strokes Arthur’s hair. There is a faint flicker of light around Arthur’s hair, like a halo. Merlin giggles involuntarily. His magic is sometimes very literal. _I’m not sure I was supposed to worship him, but oh well_ , Merlin thinks, leaning towards Arthur and kissing him.

“Still a bad idea?” he asks when they finally break their kiss, long, messy, their tongues tracing the outlines of their mouths (and probably finding last bits of lasagna, which should be disgusting, but weirdly, is somewhat hot).

“Mmm,” Arthur says, pulling Merlin closer. “Maybe not.”

And there it is, Merlin’s cock is getting harder by the second, and Arthur pushes his hips towards Merlin’s, so that it’s obvious the sensation is reciprocated. Merlin lies back slowly, Arthur still kissing him open-mouthed, planting the kisses on his jaw, throat and collarbones.

“Take the shirt off,” he says, a bit imperiously, and Merlin’s cock stirs. “I feel like I’m kissing myself.”

He doesn’t need to say it twice. Merlin pulls the t-shirt over his head, entangling himself a bit, while Arthur takes off his own shirt, not bothering with unbuttoning it. With Arthur’s glorious chest in sight, so broad and so perfect, Merlin feels inadequate – but it’s only for a moment, because then he sees how Arthur’s looking at him, almost devouring him, and all bashfulness is gone. Merlin outstretches his hand, touching Arthur’s chest with his fingers and his magic both – and realizes his palm is a bit damp. Is it Arthur’s sweat, or has Merlin’s magic adjusted to his needs? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. If only Arthur just took off his trousers already…

And then, the trousers are down, off Arthur’s legs, falling to the ground. Merlin lets out a small noise of surprise, because now his magic seems to have a mind of its own – though calling it a _mind_ is really an overstatement.

“You sneaky bastard,” Arthur says, impressed. “Impatient, hm?”

Merlin really is. Especially when he sees the outline of Arthur’s erection through his pants. He puts his hands on Arthur’s hips, yanking him closer, while his magic deals with Merlin’s trousers the same way it did with Arthur’s. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, and with any other man, he would be abashed and unsure. But this is Arthur. Arthur wouldn’t laugh at his inexperience.

Arthur guides Merlin, pressing their cocks together, reaching over Merlin’s pants, stroking.

“Oh gods…,” Merlin whines, involuntarily. “Oh, fuck, yes.”

Their pants are off, and Arthur is grinding their cocks together, thrusting with his hips, trying to find a comfortable rhythm. Merlin is moaning softly, saying some nonsense straight into Arthur’s mouth. He’s going to come very soon, and just hopes it’s not too soon. His magic erupts, and he has no idea what it’s doing, but hopefully nothing bad, as Arthur doesn’t seem to pull away. The rhythm is becoming faster now, Arthur’s hips pushing into Merlin’s, their cocks together, their faces close, Arthur’s eyes dark and wide with pleasure, sweat trickling down Arthur’s forehead… and finally, Merlin hears Arthur panting into his ear, and the words are there and not there at the same time, in his mind and in his ear, doubled:

“ _Come for me, Merlin._ ”

Merlin hears himself cry out, high-pitched, a voice so different that he barely recognizes it, and to the sound of Arthur’s groans and Merlin’s god yes, Arthur, yes, they come together, almost at the same time. Arthur’s chest deflates, and he falls down on Merlin, crushing him a bit, but it doesn’t matter, because for the first time in his life, Merlin feels the release which is not just a casual relief, but pure joy.

When he dares to move again, looking around, he realizes that every single object in the room is floating in the air.

***

The voices outside the Magic Now HQ are rising to a roar.

Morgana stands by the window, peeking out, making sure she’s not seen from outside. Her office is on the second floor, and it’s good for observation. The crowd that has gathered on the street is growing. There are banners with phrases like BRING DOWN MAGIC NOW or STOP THE TORTURE, or better still UTHER P. = A CRIMINAL. There is one person who’s standing above the ground on some kind of a platform. After seconds of squinting, Morgana thinks she recognizes Morgause, if the profile picture on Facebook was any indication.

“We demand justice for the magical community,” Morgause speaks through the megaphone. “We want the harmful therapy to be delegalized. In a country where torture is illegal, how could such practices not only go unpunished, but be promoted as something beneficial? You all saw the video. That is not how any child should be treated, no matter what. Magic is not a crime. It shouldn’t be punished. It is not cancer. It shouldn’t be eradicated. It should be understood and nourished, as any other gift or talent.”

Morgana feels tears in her eyes. She wipes them clumsily, her magic tingling under her skin.

And then, the door behind her back open. Uther storms into the office.

“I called the police,” he says, matter-of-fact. “They told me the demonstration is legal. Can you believe that?”

Morgana doesn’t turn from the window. She’s not ready to face her father.

“It’s a free country,” she only says, quietly.

“This is a disaster,” Uther says. “The parents have cancelled their appointments, miss Smith tells me. Soon, our sponsors and partners will start asking questions. Our statement was not well received. It will take months to recover from that.”

Morgana’s silent.

“Well?” Uther asks. “Will you say something?”

“I think we had it coming.”

“What did you say?”

“I think we deserve it. We – the company. I don’t know, Dad, maybe you really believe you’re helping the poor magical kids. I honestly don’t know any more. But you’re not helping them. I’m not Arthur, I do actually know the methods. Believe me, any progress I’ve made in past weeks with the kids was done in spite of our programs, not thanks to them.”

“Oh, so they brainwashed you too?” Uther’s voice is even. “What have you been listening to, you and Arthur? I thought you were much too grown up to be so impressionable.”

“Don’t treat me like a child, Dad. I know what I’m saying. I have my own mind.”

“You clearly don’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be saying this nonsense.”

And that is precisely when the window shatters.

Uther jumps in surprise.

“Attackers! Violence!” he cries. “That’s it, I’m calling the police. I knew they won’t be able to contain themselves. That’s precisely what a magical would do.”

“Dad.” Morgana turns to him, looking at him for the first time since he entered the room. He’s clutching a phone in his hand, ready to dial the number. “Dad, be rational. Where is the stone they’ve thrown? Can you see any?”

“Well, obviously, they shattered the window magically. That’s what they do.”

“Magically, yes. But it wasn’t them. It was me.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. The incident at school -”

“Father, will you listen to me _just once_?”

As Morgana raises her voice the mirror on the wall shatters, following the window. A spider web of concentric damage, as if someone has punched it right in the middle.

Uther’s face goes pale.

“You…,” he says, pointing at Morgana, as if he has just seen a monster. “You… you have magic…”

“I do. Don’t know how or why. But the incident at school? It wasn’t a coincidence. I am magical.”

“How…? Oh, I understand, it’s probably some borderline case. Maybe you picked it up from your kids in therapy.”

“I was born with it, Dad. Only, you never realized. Maybe it’s for the best. After all, if you knew, you would have sent me to some facility with stepmom. Arthur would have lost both a mum and a sister.”

“You…” Uther’s choking on words. His face is a face of a man who’s lost the last shred of hope. And Morgana can’t look at it. She can’t look at her own father who thinks she’s a monster. She can’t look at a man who’s disappointed of how she was born. She still can’t help but feel guilty, though she knows she shouldn’t. And she hates herself for feeling that.

“I think I’ll go,” she says, her voice shaking, but still managing, just barely, to say the words. “I don’t expect you to allow me to stay at your home. Don’t worry, I’ll pack my things and move out. I suppose I won’t be working here from now on. I’ll find some other clinic, maybe. But first, I think I’ll join the protesters. After all, _I’m one of them_.”

As she walks past stunned Uther, panic is rising in her chest. First, it’s about Arthur. _I was supposed to help him from where I stand, not follow him._ Then, about Mordred. _I’ll have to become an independent therapist really quickly, and still, his parents might not want me._ But most importantly, it’s the selfish panic for herself. _Even if Aulfric and Sophia don’t bother me in Arthur’s flat, Dad would never let me stay there. Where will I go? I’ve been living in a golden cage. Always so good at big speeches, always so eager to disagree with Dad, but never brave enough to follow through._

She knows she had more defiance in the past than Arthur ever has, but she also knows why. Uther has always been more indulgent towards her. In reality, she wasn’t any braver than her brother. Even now, chances are that Uther will try to be lenient. Her magic might have reminded him of the perceived horrors he went through with Igraine, but Morgana knows her dad too well not to suspect that he’d think twice before announcing he’s going to disown her, as he’s likely to do with Arthur. Just another injustice on the whole list of little injustices Uther performed towards Arthur and Morgana throughout the years.

And what Morgana hates most about herself as she walks out of the clinic, storming past stunned Gwen ( _there is always a choice, you said, oh well, I guessed I listened to you, for better or for worse_ ), is that a part of her still hopes for Uther’s clemency. A part of her hopes Dad would forgive her for the original sin of having magic, that he’d let her stay at Arthur’s at least, that he won’t take everything from her. She’s so scared on living on her own.

As Morgana walks out of the HQ, a crowd instantly surrounds her, and a dozen of microphones are shot in her direction.

“Who is she? What’s this?” she hears from everywhere.

“Are you a therapist?” somebody asks.

Morgana looks at the microphones. There are some people from the local news, there is even a journalist from a respectable newspaper Uther always reads. Most of them don’t know who she is – after all, even though she’s Uther’s daughter, she’s never been much in the spotlight – but some may have already guessed. She looks at the woman from the newspaper. She’s holding her microphone in anticipation, her eyes widened. Is it recognition? Or is it just professional curiosity? The woman’s blonde hair hangs in loose strands around her face, falling down on a collar of an oversized yellow coat.

“Excuse me, are you Morgana Pendragon by any chance?” asks the woman. “Would you care to comment on the situation?”

“And you are?” Morgana asks, trying to sound as composed as she can.

“Elena Godwin. I write about magical issues in the Camelot Times.”

Morgana smirks. 

_Damn the fear_ , she thinks.

“I’d be happy for you to interview me. I’d like to share my insight on Magic Now.”

***

She doesn’t talk about Igraine. That would be a gross violation of Arthur’s trust – especially so that his mum might be somewhere out there, watching how the whole situation unfolds. But she talks a lot about the clinic’s practices, and how she learned to loathe them. She declares she’s going to continue her work as a psychologist, but independently, using professor Alice’s research. Lastly, she speaks about her personal journey. Deep down she feels it might be too soon, exposing herself like that, but she pushes the thought aside.

The interview will appear in the paper next day. Uther will read it and all will be gone. Morgana goes to her dad’s house to pack a few things. She has no idea where to go.

There is only one place that comes to her mind.

_Freya, do u have a spare room by any chance? Terribly sorry about that. Can we meet? I’ll explain everything then._

Before she leaves the house, Mordred’s dad calls her.

“We’ve decided to give it a go,” he says, wary. “You can come to our house. I’ll give you the address.”

“I’m very happy to hear that, mister Cerdan. Though I must warn you, I will be working independently from now on. I’m no longer affiliated with Magic Now.”

There is a short pause on the other end.

“Is it about the security?” asks the man at last.

“Among other things, yes. The fact is, mister Cerdan, my work will be the same as it was – or better. It’s only about the affiliation. I hope you will trust me on that.”

A sigh. “Come to our house for the first session, and then we’ll see,” mister Cerdan says. “Taken how unresponsive Mordred is, you’re probably still the best chance we’ve got, miss Pendragon.”

“You’re right about that. I can help you communicate with him, if you wish. I’ll help you both.”

“Right. See you… in two days? Is it all right?”

“Perfectly fine. See you, mister Cerdan.”

As Morgana puts the phone back to her pocket, her head spins.

So many things are happening at the same time.

***

There is a brief moment when Merlin wonders if he’d ever be able to put all the levitating things down.

But, fortunately, as his emotions slowly subside, so do the objects fall, some with loud thumps (the kitchen chair), others with silent grace (the blankets from the bed).

When Merlin reluctantly disentangles himself from Arthur’s embrace and sits on the bed, the room around them looks almost the same, albeit the table stands a bit further to the right, and a couple of mugs in the kitchen corner changed their place from the inside of the sink to the top of the fridge.

“Pity you didn’t levitate the whole caravan,” Arthur says. “That would’ve been fun.”

Merlin snorts, nuzzling at Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur wraps his arm around Merlin’s shoulder, and kisses his forehead. Merlin melts in a soft wave of warmth.

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asks, pulling Merlin back into a sitting position and wrapping him in bedsheets. 

“Mmm,” Merlin just says, too spent to say anything more coherent.

“I suppose that means _fantastic_.”

Merlin grins.

Arthur stands up, reluctantly disentangling himself from Merlin’s arms, and walks in the direction of the bathroom. He takes a towel, dampens it, and comes back to clean Merlin up with broad strokes. Merlin’s skin feels tingly.

They end up with a lingering kiss. When they break apart, Arthur asks:

“So, can I check out the TV? Or is it too profane for your taste?”

“Oh, go on,” Merlin allows, settling his arm around Arthur’s waist. “Just please, not some stupid reality show.”

“Really, Merlin? You have such low expectations of me? Come on, maybe there’s some fun movie.”

Arthur turns the TV on – the screen is old and the image gets a bit blurry, but beggars can’t be choosers – and jumps from channel to channel, getting a mix of ads, some shitty spy movie, and a talent show on which a guy tries to prove he can sing _My Heart Will Go On_ backwards.

“Come on,” Arthur mutters through gritted teeth. “Really, nothing?”

At last, he finds a local channel – Ealdor is still close enough to the city to catch it – and settles on the news outlet which is just starting.

“Yeah, let’s cheer ourselves up by hearing all about today’s car accidents,” mutters Merlin, but Arthur doesn’t react.

 _And now, to the news on today’s protests. The magical community protested on Copper Street today. The demonstrators gathered before the offices of Magic Now, Uther Pendragon’s company dedicated to magical therapy._

As on an accord, both Merlin and Arthur sit up straight, shifting to the edge of the bed. Arthur turns the volume up.

 _The surge of public outcry begun two days ago, when a recording of one of the therapy sessions conducted by Magic Now was uploaded online by an unknown source_ , the TV presenter continues. _The protest is a direct response to this incident. The demonstrators postulate delegalizing the therapy, calling it inhumane and “practically torture”. Let’s see what they had to say today._

The image shifts from a TV studio to a recording from an all too well-known spot. The whole of the street is blocked by people with various banners, shouting _JUS-TICE_ or _A-BOLISH TORTURE!_ In the background, the slim, glass skyscraper, the Magic Now HQ, stands high and proud. Among the crowds, there is a platform, where, surrounded by a ring or microphones, a blonde, slim woman is standing, saying something, only, her words are unintelligible, obscured by a voiceover of a TV presenter.

 _Starting right at 10 a.m._ , the presenter says, _the protesters gathered in numbers amounting to ten thousand, united in the pursuit of one goal: bringing down Magic Now. The organizer of the protest, a non-profit organization Triskelion, has been campaigning for this exact thing for years, but only now, as they claim, has the momentum been reached. The founders of the Triskelion postulate a shift in thinking about magic – that, instead of being a disorder, it should be viewed as an alternate path of development, and magical skills should be encouraged instead of being eradicated._

The image on the screen shifts again, this time showing a close-up of the woman who has been previously seen on the platform. The caption on the bottom of the screen says _MORGAUSE GORLOIS, A CO-FUNDER OF TRISKELION_.

 _I founded Triskelion out of frustration_ , she says to the microphone gratefully provided by one of the journalists. _I’ve been watching magical people being discriminated all around me: forced to conceal their skills or downright abused because of them; discriminated in their workplaces and in the courts of law just because of the way they were born. I couldn’t stand for it any longer. Remember, there was a time when gay people were treated just the same and nobody would even think of equal rights. It’s not easy to uproot a prejudice, but we can at least change the law, guaranteeing protection for the magicals. I am very happy that the opportunity might be presenting itself right now._

“I should have gone into politics,” mutters Arthur suddenly. “I would be able to do something now, at least.”

“You will find a way to do things.” Merlin puts his head on Arthur’s shoulder. “You were brave already.”

“Do you know this… Morgause?”

“No,” Merlin says. “I don’t know everyone from Triskelion. I’m not such a big name, you know.”

The news continues.

_We asked several protesters to explain why they came to the demonstration._

When the next face on the screen appears, Merlin cries out:

“Look! It’s Freya! Shit, I wish I was there!”

And sure enough, it is Freya. Resolute and cheerful as always, she speaks clearly and without a pause, her voice trained by numerous public events.

 _I am here because I’m magical_ , she says. _And because the stereotypes perpetrated by Magic Now affect everyone, no matter if they had to go through the hell that is their therapy or not. I, gratefully, didn’t have to, mainly because I’ve been denied the right to be magical in the first place. So many people go through this, especially women. We don’t look like cartoon villains or like Gandalf, therefore, we aren’t seen as magical. It’s frustrating. I want an end to that._

Merlin suddenly feels a pang of jealousy in his chest. _I could have been there_ , he thinks wistfully. _I could have stood by my people. And now, I’m safely hidden in some godforsaken caravan, instead of making a stand._

But then again, if he were with his people, that would have meant keeping Arthur captive, tormenting him, making him live in fear of pain. No, Merlin knows he’s done the right thing. But it still hurts.

There are a couple of other people speaking up before the TV material comes to an end. Merlin spots Gilli who’s saying something about inventing a way to boost magical powers instead of quenching them, and another girl whom Merlin doesn’t know and who is _just so happy to be here, among people who think the same as I do_.

The whole thing ends with a short statement from the reporter:

_We asked Uther Pendragon for some response to the recent events, but he refused to comment. We were able, however, to listen to the statement that the company has issued only yesterday._

The scene cuts to a blond bearded man ( _LEON KNIGHT_ , says the caption at the bottom of the screen), standing by a lectern in one of the conference rooms at Magic Now HQ, sweating behind a row of microphones, reading a statement with a wooden and rather unconvinced voice. There are words about the violation of privacy and the therapy never being anything else than designed to help those touched by magic, and about certain videos being taken out of context. Merlin grinds his teeth, feeling a surge of hatred for the man, though to be honest, he doesn’t think that the guy’s even convinced by what he’s paid to say.

Arthur turns off the TV. “Shit,” he says. “That could have been me, behind those microphones.”

Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder. “Good that you’re here, then.”

Arthur frowns. “That must have been a tough day.”

“For whom?”

Arthur winces. “Morgana,” he says, and Merlin sees his point, but at the same time, he knows that Arthur is still thinking about Uther. It can hardly be helped.

“It had to be done,” Merlin says, gently, squeezing Arthur’s waist.

“I know,” Arthur responds. “I know.”

***

Freya lives on the other side of the city. It takes Morgana a good hour to get to her place, and when she finally steps into the lift, a suitcase in hand, she’s exhausted. She pushes the button for the seventh floor and waits as the lift travels smoothly through the building.

Freya opens the door with a smile. Morgana recognizes her from the recording of her speech, but in person, she seems tinier – her head only reaches Morgana’s shoulder – yet more lively.

“Come in,” she says. “You can crash here for at least a couple of days.”

There is a man standing behind Freya, eyeing Morgana curiously. In the dimly lit corridor, his face is partly obscured, but when Morgana walks into the apartment and Freya turns on a brighter light, she notices a big scar on the man’s right cheek. Awkwardly, Morgana looks away. She doesn’t want to stare.

But then, the man smirks and says: “Hi. I’m Edwin.”

Morgana’s eyes dart straight back to him.

“Edwin!” she cries. “Are you…”

“…one of the people that forced your brother to break through Magic Now’s defences? Yup, that’s me. Sorry about that.”

For a very brief moment, Morgana feels terribly, terribly cold. Her knees are weak and wobbly, and her muscles tense. Has Freya tricked her? Was it all a ruse? Morgana’s hand clutches her bag, unconsciously, shaking.

Then, the moment passes, and Morgana feels herself readying for a fight. She has magic, after all. Can’t she use it? She won’t be defeated so quickly. She looks at Edwin through narrowed eyes, and he seems to recognize the challenge that she’s throwing him. He gives her an amused look.

Freya steps in between them, placating.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine,” she says quickly. “Edwin’s not mad at Arthur anymore.”

“Well, that might be stretching it a little,” Edwin says, “but I don’t want to hurt your precious brother, don’t you worry. I figured if Merlin and him haven’t exposed me or Sophia already, they won’t do it. Merlin must have found a bracelet-free way to shut him up.” He sniggers.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Morgana asks, angrily.

Edwin evades her question. “Oh, come on. I won’t keep you standing in the corridor.” He moves, gesturing towards the small living room. “Please, come and sit. Coffee?”

“I am the host, Edwin, for gods’ sake,” Freya says, a little crossed, but also amused. “Please, Morgana. We’re going to explain everything.”

Reluctantly, Morgana walks in. There is a green, plush sofa in the middle of the room, waiting to be sit upon and relished for its softness. Freya gestures towards it and Morgana complies. She sinks into the sofa, barely registering anything else in the room, apart from a small coffee table with biscuits and crisps in a bowl. Edwin sits beside Morgana. She instinctively recoils.

“I won’t harm you,” says Edwin pointedly. “The fact that I sometimes fantasize about setting Gaius on fire doesn’t mean I revel in pain.”

“Well, you seemed to do a pretty good job of reveling in it when you put a bracelet with _heat_ and _electroshock_ functions on Arthur’s wrist,” says Morgana in a bitter voice.

“That was mainly Aulfric.”

“Don’t you work together?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes not. You know, magical community isn’t uniform. We are not a worldwide conspiracy with an _agenda_ , as some may seem to think.”

“What do you want of me?”

Edwin sighs. “Listen. All I fight for is justice. I saw you today in front of Magic Now HQ, being interviewed, and Freya tells me you broke up with Uther P. himself. You must see that the breech was necessary.”

“I do,” Morgana says, still frowning. “But there were many different ways of doing it. Arthur could have done it of his own will.”

Edwin sighs. “Really, Morgana. You can’t blame me for not trusting your little prick of a brother. Not when he deceived Merlin.”

Morgana looks down. “I know. But if you just give him a chance…”

Edwin rolls his eyes. “I might do, one day. That is, if he doesn’t do anything to Merlin.”

“How can you even…” Morgana starts, then checks herself. “No. Arthur might have acted stupid at the con, but I’ve never seen him being devious in my entire life. It’s not in his nature.”

“Good. Let’s hope you’re right.”

“I thought you were mad at Merlin. For setting Arthur free.”

“I was for a while, but now I’m mainly worried. The poor kid’s still so trusting. He’s lucky your brother’s not a psycho. At least, I hope he’s not.”

Morgana makes an indignant noise. _You’re a psycho_ , she thinks.

“With the prejudice we face, do you really wonder why I’m so mistrustful?” asks Edwin.

Morgana sighs. “I don’t. I’m magical too, you know.”

Edwin raises his eyebrows. “Oh my. No wonder Uther cast you away.”

“I cast myself away, if anything. I wanted to sit in a closet for a while, but I couldn’t live this lie. We’re losing patients anyway. There isn’t much good I can do from inside the clinic.”

“You want to side with us, then?”

“With the oppressed, yes. But not with a girl who deceived my brother for a year and practically kidnapped him.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t usually work with Sophia,” Edwin says, dismissively. “She’s pretty intense, I know. And still livid at Merlin, which makes her dangerous. I don’t want any harm to come to this boy. He’s far too good for this world.”

Freya, who’s been making coffee during their conversation, now comes into the living room, putting their cups on the table and sitting next to Edwin.

“That was quite a speech, Ed,” she says. “But yeah, that’s the gist of it. Arthur’s legit. We want him by our side, and we’ll try to protect him from Sophia and Aulfric. You can go to wherever he is and tell him. After a few days, maybe, when the storm dies down a little.”

Morgana remembers the call from Mordred’s father.

“I don’t know if I can go,” she sighs. “I’d be happy to send a message, though. Somehow.”

Freya smiles reassuringly. “We’ll think about it. While you stay here.”

Morgana feels her cheeks going a bit hot. “I never thanked you properly.”

“No need. It’s not the first time this flat has seen a magical being thrown out of their home by their family. Or just crashing for a few days while they look for something better. It’s almost like a safe house by this point.”

Not knowing what to say, Morgana decides on taking her cup and sipping some coffee. She feels rather stupid. Almost like a fraud. After all, she only discovered she had magic days ago. And it isn’t like her life has been uncomfortable up to this point. It’s almost as if she was taking somebody else’s place, somebody who’s in a far worse situation. But she can hardly explain herself in front of Edwin and his smirks. She still doesn’t feel safe in the man’s presence.

For now, Morgana decides to change the topic.

“Why is Sophia so… intense?” she asks, cautiously. “I’ve seen many people who hold a grudge, but pretending to be someone’s girlfriend out of spite is pretty… next level, really.”

“Uther screw Aulfric over pretty badly,” Edwin says curtly. “I don’t know the exact details. But he made a campaign some years ago, about _the ways magic affects people in their workplaces_. Effectively stating that they aren’t fit for any regular work because of magic. It put many magical people in a pretty precarious position.”

Morgana’s face reddens. She remembers the campaign, dimly. She was still in high school back then. 

“Obviously, it wasn’t only Aulfric that has been affected,” Edwin continues. “But he was left almost destitute for a while. Not that this grievance is any bigger or harder to forgive than many other grievances other magicals hold against Uther. Why so extreme? Well, they’re pragmatists, the Sidhe family. They’d do whatever helps them reach their goal. I’d say they still weren’t really extreme. No bombs, no assassinations. Boring. And the word even is that Sophia actually liked Arthur in the beginning. Their meeting wasn’t staged. It was pure chance. It was only later when she realized she could use him.”

Morgana remembers what Arthur told her about his first meeting with Sophia. It really was like something taken straight out of a romantic comedy: a coffee shop where she worked as a barista, and Arthur was a regular. She was supposed to fall in love with him while preparing him a macchiato. _Never trust romantic comedies_ , Morgana thinks now, darkly. _Sometimes I’m really glad I’m aro._

As the afternoon changes into evening, the atmosphere becomes more and more relaxed. Edwin isn’t actually that bad, and though Morgana knows she’ll never forget his role in the whole kidnapping-Arthur scheme – still, he could have been much worse. He’s very protective when it comes to Merlin, and Morgana starts to suspect that part of it might be Edwin seeing his past self in him.

Freya, on the other hand, is simply great. She has this rare quality of making everyone around her comfortable and self-assured. _A comfort blanket in human form_ , Morgana thinks, _and sometimes possibly even in a cat form._

Edwin leaves around 8 p.m. and they are left alone. Freya has a spare tiny bedroom – the safe space which has seen many lost and suffering magicals – and Morgana settles there with a newfound ease. With Freya’s radiant presence by her side, she doesn’t feel bashful about the whole “living off someone else’s charity” thing.

“I’m going to find something soon, I promise,” Morgana says.

“Really, don’t worry about it. You’re gonna have enough on your shoulders tomorrow. Is it coming out tomorrow? The interview, I mean?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, better get a good night’s sleep then.” Freya hurries to the bed to clear it before letting Morgana in. There is a banner lying on top of it, ABOLISH MAGIC NOW in bold, red letters. 

“Maybe I should stick it to the window,” says Freya, pensively. “Only, it’ll block half the view. I would have to take my rainbow flag down.”

“You can always paint the slogan on the flag,” Morgana says, smiling.

“Tomorrow.” Freya leaves the bedroom door half-open. “Bathroom’s down the corridor. I won’t disturb you, but let me know if you need anything.”

“I’m good, thanks. And – thank you again.”

“Get some sleep.”

When Morgana finally goes to sleep some two hours later, having showered and perused mindlessly through some random YouTube videos on her laptop, her phone buzzes.

Uther.

She doesn’t pick up.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day of their confinement-turned-vacation passes relatively peacefully, if Merlin doesn’t count the instances when he sees a brief shadow pass through Arthur’s face – probably every time when he remembers about the protest at Magic Now, or about his father. Merlin tries to be there for him, and, though he never considered himself to be really good at cheering people up, his attempts at distracting Arthur seem to work; by midday, they both end up in the forest, practicing Merlin’s magic and Arthur’s mind defences again, laughing at dry jokes and talking about their favourite books. 

“I really like _The Lord of the Rings_ ,” Merlin says when they’re heading back to Ealdor. “I know, it’s such a classic, and I’m not really original, and some people say it’s boring, but…”

“I liked it too,” Arthur cuts him off with a smile. “You don’t have to apologise for what you like.”

“You did?” Merlin asks, incredulous. The more he gets to know Arthur, the more they seem to be made for each other, and sometimes Merlin is scared that everything is just a bit too perfect.

“Sure I did. I mean, I’m not much of a geek and I don’t remember all those distinctions between different kinds of elves, but I liked it well enough.” Arthur clasps Merlin’s hand. Merlin entwines his fingers with Arthur’s, and they slow their pace a little. “Tell me about it. What did you like most?”

So, Merlin spends the rest of the hour excitedly blabbering about how magic in _LOTR_ is so soft and hard to grasp which he likes much more than any hard magic fantasy, and how this is much more similar to the real world than most people imagine; about how it seems to be some kind of miraculous force of nature, harmonized with the nature itself, and that’s probably why the elves are so good at it. He talks and talks, explaining his own theory of how Tolkien must have been magical himself, only he didn’t talk about it directly, just through his work; and really, Merlin could talk about it for hours, but he never assumed that anyone would really listen. Even Will, though he was usually patient, would occasionally burst out with something like _okay, mate, got it, you like it a lot, fine, can we just talk about something else?_ – and Merlin didn’t blame him, not exactly, but it still stung.

But Arthur is not only patient, he doesn’t just listen – he’s actively interested, asking some occasional questions, but mostly saying stuff like _wow, that’s fascinating_ , or, _really? That’s wild, never thought about it like that!_ – and Merlin doesn’t even notice when they reach their caravan, stopping outside, because they are just so keen on finishing up their conversation that they don’t even bother to search their pockets for the keys.

When Merlin is finally done with the explanation – well, at least done with one part of it, for he’s sure that there will be many more things to talk about in the future – Arthur fishes for the keys and says:

“I’m kinda sweaty. Lots of walking. Gonna take a shower, okay?”

“Okay,” Merlin says, following him into the caravan.

“You can join me if you want,” Arthur mutters, clearly too embarrassed to say the suggestion out loud and straight into Merlin’s face.

Merlin feels his cheeks redden.

“Okay,” he says, bravely. “Though I don’t know… the bathroom’s really tiny.”

“We’ll manage,” Arthur says, reassuringly. “And anyway, just washing. I’m not a fan of injury-prone shower sex or anything. Just… I don’t know. It would be nice to be so close to you.”

Merlin only nods, feeling his cheeks burn even more. He feels like Arthur’s letting him in on a secret. 

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he says.

***

The bathroom is steamy, and the outline of Arthur’s body is only barely visible. Still, Merlin can make out Arthur’s arm and leg, a soft, light shape blurred by hundreds of wet droplets going down the white, semi-transparent curtain. As Merlin enters the bathroom, the hum of water stops.

Arthur pushes the curtain away.

“Come here,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Before Merlin is able to make a move, he just stares. He takes in all of Arthur’s body, from his flushed face and slick hair, from the drops of water hanging from his eyelashes, through his chest, pink and steamy, his strong legs – a complicated pattern of wet rivulets making their way down through the light hairs on his thighs and calves – to his cock: long, slick and somewhat expectant. 

“Why are you still in your clothes, Merlin?” Arthur asks. “Come on.”

And Merlin doesn’t need a second invitation. He shreds his pants, kicks off his shoes and socks, takes off Arthur’s t-shirt and folds it carefully, putting it on top of the pile of clothes, like a precious price. When he looks back at Arthur, the man’s lips are quirked in a tiny smile, and his eyes ravish Merlin in a way that makes him swallow.

But when Merlin steps into the tiny shower cubicle, so tiny they barely fit together, he knows that what will happen between them now won’t be about sex. Weirdly, this feels much more intimate than their kisses, even more intimate than their first time the day before; it’s about care, and vulnerability. This is the moment when Merlin realizes nobody has probably seen Arthur like that, ever. None of his boyfriends, girlfriends or one-night stands. Arthur hasn’t told him that, but Merlin knows.

When he stands beside Arthur, chests pressed together, Merlin’s magic clings to him and encompasses them both in a warm embrace. Arthur murmurs.

“What are you doing, Merlin?” he asks, eyes half-closed.

“Making you comfortable. Do you like it?”

“Yeah.” Arthur reaches to the tap half-dreamingly, letting the water wet Merlin. “Careful, it might be a bit…”

… _cold at first_ , finishes Merlin in his mind, because he knows the shower here all too well, but he also knows his capabilities better now. So the water that flows is instantly heated to an optimal temperature, and Merlin murmurs in delight. He’s so relaxed now. When he’s stressed, his skin feels so sensitive even the flowing water seems to be hurting him. Now though, his muscles are soft, and the magic under his skin doesn’t protest. It takes the water gratefully, like plants in a garden.

Then, Arthur takes the soapy sponge and presses it to Merlin’s shoulder.

“I think you need some cleaning,” he says, his smile still tiny and so incredibly fond that Merlin grins.

Arthur massages him in broad circles, careful and thorough. He knows exactly how much is good for him – Merlin has told him how he hates light brushing, but loves the pressure. No spot on Merlin’s body is forgotten. When it comes to the sensitive places – the inside of Merlin’s upper thigh, his bum, his lower belly – Arthur’s movements are even softer, more soothing, but still, somehow, not losing the pressure. The sponge which usually has the potential for being scratchy, strokes Merlin’s skin like velvet, while Arthur squats, whispering something to his body, his lips pressed to his legs, his back, his cock.

It’s not only an act of desire. It’s an act of love, and Merlin can’t believe he’s an object of such near-worship. He can’t believe he’s seeing Arthur like this: this strong, bold man so gentle and caring. Mindlessly, he entangles his fingers in Arthur’s wet, golden hair, his back pressed to the tiles. He repeats Arthur’s name over and over again, like it’s some kind of litany. His magic glows from underneath his skin.

It doesn’t end with some wild sex in the shower. It ends with an open-mouthed kiss, though, a kiss which lasts all the time they need to dry up a bit, both hidden under one big towel. Only when they are both dry, their hair still half-damp and so, so good to touch, Arthur asks:

“Bed?”

Merlin only nods.

***

“I want you inside me.”

_This is the moment_ , Merlin thinks as he hears himself utter the words, listening to his own voice as if it was somebody else’s. _This is the moment when I’m ready._ Because, really, how can he not be, after all the display of affection Arthur has shown him? How can he not trust Arthur so fully it almost scares him? 

Arthur’s eyes widen.

“Are you sure, love?” And here it is, another proof, love, the way Arthur says it, the unbearable softness in this voice. Arthur never speaks like that to anyone, Merlin knows this, and his magic knows it even better: instinctively, it wants to seep into Arthur, bond with him on a highest possible level. They are two sides of the same coin, they don’t need any stupid bracelets to make it so, maybe they have always been just made to fit each other, who knows? Now, they need to be one.

Arthur’s face is close to Merlin’s, his eyes expectant, his lips slightly parted. Merlin closes them with a chaste kiss.

“I’m sure. Please, Arthur.”

“Right. Yeah.” Arthur clears his throat, his voice delightfully raspy. “Lemme just…” He reaches to the drawer, takes the lube and the condoms which he must have prudently bought the day before. His fingers are almost shaking, and in any other circumstance, Merlin would probably be stressed out all over again. But it’s Arthur, his Arthur, and deep down, he knows that, even if it will be awkward for the first time, even though they might not find their common rhythm instantly, it will still be an amazing start, and it will only go better from here. There will be no judgement, no frustration. They’ll take it easy.

And Arthur takes it easy, opening Merlin slowly with his slick finger, first just one, then two, and Merlin feels himself relaxing, letting go. And then, when Arthur’s cock is inside him, it’s so, so much, almost too much at first, but then it settles just right, and Merlin is overcome by a wave of pleasure. The rhythm is slow at first, then Merlin whispers _faster_ , and here they are, fucking, an activity which Merlin, in his darkest moments, thought himself completely incapable of taking. And it’s not only happening, it’s awesome, and Arthur is so gorgeous, and, _oh, gods, harder, please, just_ –

_Merlin!_

_Arthur_. And Merlin comes all over Arthur’s stomach, their bodies and their thoughts entwined. A few more jerks and Arthur comes too, groaning. Merlin opens his eyes (when did he close them?) and sees Arthur looking at him like he’s some kind of an angel, and Merlin is suddenly doubly aware of every spot where his body touches Arthur’s – his arse around Arthur’s cock, his calves over Arthur’s back, Arthur’s hand on Merlin’s side – and the sounds are magnified, too: the rustle of sheets, the dull buzz of the fridge, the faint gust of the wind outside and a faded barking of somebody’s dog two houses away. Merlin hears his blood flowing through his veins, along with his magic – his blood is red, his magic is gold – all to one spot. He feels tingling in his muscles, and the sensation would be almost too much, if he wasn’t, right at this moment, staring into Arthur’s eyes, grounding himself. Merlin could never do that in other circumstances – Arthur’s eyes would be too distracting, too deep, their soft, blue hum would deafen Arthur’s words and thoughts. But now, no words are needed, and Merlin can stare and stare, his magic at its finest, because he can hear the blueness of Arthur’s eyes. He doesn’t know how much time has passed. For all he knows, he could have frozen time by accident, and they would be forever trapped like that, staring at each other, recovering after the mutual orgasm, while Arthur is still inside Merlin.

_I love you_ , Merlin says, letting the thought fly from his mind.

_I know_ , Arthur answers. _I love you too._

And then, a flicker of gold in those blue, blue eyes. Is it a reflection of Merlin’s own golden flicker? Of did it come from inside Arthur? If it did, then…

But Merlin doesn’t want to think. He’s past that now.

***

**_The Pendragon family drama. Daughter exposes the father, quits Magic Now_ **

“Oh, shit,” Morgause says, drinking her morning coffee. 

The interview is a whole page in the Camelot Times. Morgause skims through the contents frantically, searching for any possible hints to Igraine. But no, there is nothing. There is just Morgana Pendragon, condemning the practices of Magic Now, and outing herself as a magical.

“Oh, girl,” Morgause sighs, half-impressed, half-worried. “You made your life so difficult.”

_Does she know?_ she muses. It’s entirely possible Uther hasn’t told his kids about Igraine to this day. That would be very like him. It’s also possible that he finally did, and that’s what caused the rift in the family. Maybe Morgana just wants to be discreet. Good for her. After all, that’s what guided Morgause throughout the years – concern for Igraine’s wellbeing and avoidance of an unnecessary scandal. She didn’t want to use her cousin as a tool in a battle against Magic Now.

_I need to find Morgana_ , she thinks. _I wonder if she still uses her Magic Now email._

It’s always worth a try.

**Email subject:** _want to talk about Uther Pendragon?_

She’d probably think it’s supposed to be another interview, though, and she might not want one of those. Morgause tries for _Important information about UP’s past_ , but that just sounds so creepy she won’t be surprised if Morgana never opens the email. Morgause closes her Gmail furiously and switches to Facebook.

And then, a miracle happens.

**Morgana Pendragon to Magical Women Fb Group:** _Hi, so you might have noticed I changed my name on fb to my true one. Yes, I’m Morgana Pendragon, and I’m terribly sorry I deceived you, but you probably understand why I did it. Anyway, I’m one of you. I’m done with Uther. I’m a professional psychologist, so any suggestions as to how I can help magicals from where I stand would be welcome._

Without a second thought, Morgause touches her keypad.

**Morgause writes:** _Priv_


	5. Chapter 5

It’s Friday afternoon, four days after Merlin and Arthur’s arrival at Ealdor, when something that looks like a crossover between a 90s car and a toy truck drives into Mr. Matthew’s courtyard.

The abomination is painted orange, and Arthur suspects it’s partly to cover up the rust marks around the door and the windows. The vehicle rolls onto the courtyard like a primordial creature from the sea and abruptly stops, letting out an agonizing growl. Arthur watches in amazement as the door open with a loud thud, threatening to fall out of their hinges, and a young man with unruly hair steps out of the car.

Arthur has barely any time to ask about the man’s name and purpose of visit when he hears Merlin’s footsteps behind his back, trotting through the courtyard like a young horse and accelerating.  
“Will!” Merlin cries and lands in the guy’s embrace. The man laughs, patting Merlin on the back.

“Long time no see, eh?” he says, gently disentangling himself from the frenzy of Merlin’s long limbs, and turning to Arthur with a frown. “And you, I expect, are the cause of all this mess, aren’t you?”  
Arthur opens his mouth.

“I’m hardly…” he starts, but is cut short by Merlin who chooses this moment of all to grin broadly and point to Arthur with a proud gesture, presenting him to this Will as if he’s a prize he won in a first grade competition of some kind.

“This is Arthur,” Merlin says, and there is so much pride in his voice that Arthur doesn’t know if his heart should burst here and now, because really, there is nothing else for him to do in the world after having been treated so adoringly. Will, on the other hand, is not impressed.

“So I can see,” he says, turning instantly to Merlin again. “I brought you some stuff. From your mum. She’s worried, Merls.”

Arthur can’t help but feel a short pang of jealousy upon hearing the familiarity in Will’s tone. _They’re best mates_ , he reminds himself. _Nothing weird there. You won’t be jealous of a friend, will you?_

Merlin frowns a little when he asks:

“How’s mum? Will you tell her I’m all right? Please? I’m really all right.”

“And probably in need of your own clothes, aren’t you, Merls?” Will eyes Merlin disapprovingly, taking in the hem of Arthur’s blue shirt sticking out from underneath his coat.

Merlin laughs. “Well yeah, I won’t deny that.”

“Come to the car with me, then.”

“Are there any news?” Arthur risks a question when he realizes that Will’s probably going to ignore him for the rest of his stay in Ealdor, however long that’s supposed to be.

Will just turns to him briefly, snorting. No words are given.

“Right then,” Arthur says, crossing his arms and feeling entirely useless, “I’ll just wait inside, shall I? Until you’re done with your little bonding moment.”

But before he’s able to turn on his heels and walk back to the caravan in disgrace, he hears Merlin’s exasperated cry.

“Will! What’s _that_??”

Merlin’s head is ducked inside Will’s abominable car, examining the passenger seats. Arthur snorts, trying to imagine all types of horrors that could be hidden away under _those_.

“Ah, this little bugger,” Will says. “I have no idea how it got there, but I only discovered it halfway into the ride. It just clung to my seat and didn’t want to let go. Started scratching when I threatened to dump it out on the roadside. I didn’t have the heart to do it.”

Merlin reaches into the car. There is a faint cry of some sort… _Is it… meowing?_ And sure enough, when Merlin turns, he has a black furry cat in his hands, one of those that have a constant resting bitch face, looking at Arthur in an unimpressed sort of way, its hind paws dangling helplessly in the air. _He has absolutely no idea how to hold an animal, does my little Merlin_ , thinks Arthur fondly before another, a rather more pressing thought comes to his mind and he says, directing all his irritation at Will:

“Really?? You just took a cat out of nowhere? Jeez, it could be rabid!”

From the way Will’s and Merlin’s faces fall upon this revelation, Arthur infers none of them has thought of it before. Idiots, Arthur thinks, but before he’s even able to tell Merlin to put the bloody creature down, he’s yet again startled by Merlin’s cry.

The cat is growing in his hands.

First, its black hind paws lengthen, until they aren’t cat’s paws anymore, but thin, yet elegant legs of a woman, thankfully clad in black jeans. Then, its front paws slowly turn into woman’s arms. Lastly, its torso transforms as Merlin frightfully lets go of the creature, almost retreating into the inside of Will’s car. As the supposed cat’s torso turns into a tiny, lovely bosom of a woman, the face of the creature transforms also, slowly losing its feline features. At last, a short, but pretty black-haired woman stands before them, smiling, as if the utterly bewildering transformation she has just performed was the most mundane thing in the world – and Arthur gasps when he recognizes her from MagicCon. The woman wipes her face, stroking her nose in an utterly feline manner, as if she still had whiskers to straighten. 

“Freya!” Merlin gasps, and then promptly turns red, as the realization he was just holding his friend in his arms as some kind of a pet hits him.

“Hi, Merlin.” Freya turns to Merlin, her gestures half-fond, half-apologetic. “Sorry for startling you. That was really the only way to get here. Didn’t want to arouse any suspicion by being seen with Will, even for a moment.”

Standing beside Arthur, Will’s gasping. At least, they share this one thing in common.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaims. “And you magicals wonder why some people fear you.”

But Freya ignores him, walking gracefully – as gracefully as only someone who can turn into a cat can – towards Arthur, her hand outstretched in a greeting.

“It’s nice to see you again, Arthur,” she says. “I bring some news from Morgana.”

***

“So… you’re saying she knows where my mother is?”

Only now, as he puts his cup of tea down, does Arthur realize that his hands are shaking. Merlin is sitting beside him, their legs pressed together, squeezed on one of the beds, while Will and Freya sit on the other. The caravan seems tiny like a matchbox with four people cramped within, and Arthur can’t even imagine Merlin’s past holidays in here. 

There are more pressing matters at hand, though.

“Yes,” says Freya simply. “It’s an interesting story. Morgana has been contacted by a certain Morgause Gorlois, who claims to be your mum’s cousin. She says they lived together for a while, before your mother emigrated.”

“Dad mentioned a cousin some years ago,” Arthur says, trying to reach for his teacup again, but deciding to forego it. His hands really aren’t that reliable at the moment. “Told me she didn’t want to be in touch with him. I couldn’t understand why, back then.” He sighs, as yet another piece of the puzzle falls in place. “But how could I know she’s not a sham? How did she find Morgana anyway?”

“On a Magical Women Facebook group. Morgana outed herself there. And… well, not only there. There is an interview with her in Camelot Times from two days ago. Here. I brought it with me.”

Freya reaches to her jacket pocket, and Arthur begins to wonder what happens to the stuff she keeps in her pockets when she transforms into a cat. And what happens to her clothes besides. Those are all very valid, but still very weird questions, so Arthur doesn’t voice them.

The interview, promptly cut out of the paper, is folded in eight, and Arthur smooths it out before skimming through it. Morgana’s photo – her face a bit scared, yet determined – adorns the first page.

“Bloody hell,” mutters Arthur. “If she spoke publicly about Mum…”

“Don’t worry, she didn’t,” Freya says quickly. “But it must have drove Morgause’s attention. She’s a big name in magical community. A fighter.”

“Yup, we’ve seen her on TV,” Merlin cuts in.

“Why did she never try to contact me or Morgana before?” Arthur asks. 

Freya shrugs. “She probably didn’t think you’d believe her. Or, she thought you already knew and didn’t care.”

Arthur grinds his teeth. Merlin puts his hand on Arthur’s palm, entwining their fingers. Arthur squeezes. On the opposite side of the table, Will raises his eyebrows, slurping his hot tea.

“So, where is my mum now?” asks Arthur.

“Other side of the pond, I’m afraid,” Freya says. “Living with… her wife.”

“Oh.”

Arthur’s head is spinning. He closes his eyes for a brief moment – only for a second, just to calm himself down – and when he reopens them, he realizes a tear is rolling down his cheek, and Freya’s looking at him with concern.

“You sure you want me to continue?” she asks.

“Yes. I want to know. Does this Morgause have any proof?”

“She showed Morgana old photos with Igraine. When they were teenagers and young adults. She even has some with Uther, from your christening. Morgana’s in those photos too, though she was only five at the time. She barely remembers it.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s not some kind of a weird magical 90s style Photoshop,” Arthur mutters.

“Anyway,” Freya continues, “Morgause is in regular contact with your mother. She said she could write to her if you wished to visit. To ask her permission. If you want to visit her, that is.”

“I do,” says Arthur quickly. “Though I guess I’d need to have money for the tickets first.”

“Morgana said she’s going to help you.”

“No, she’ll need that money. Where is she even living now? After this thing…” Arthur gestures vaguely in the direction of the newspaper, “I expect she’s out of Dad’s house.”

“She’s with me,” Freya says. “She’s looking for a flat. For both of you.”

“Right, then.” Arthur massages his temple. He feels a headache coming. “Jeez, I’m lucky I have her. But I don’t want to rob her any further.”

“You can always talk to your mum on Skype,” Merlin suggests.

“If we’re ever coming back to the city, that is. On that note: how are things going?”

“Better,” says Freya with a tiny smile. “Edwin’s on your side again. Sophia and Aulfric don’t want to know you, but they reluctantly agreed you aren’t going to denounce them. And after Morgana’s interview they probably believe there is really a rift in the Pendragon family. Edwin sends his regards, by the way.” This last sentence has been definitely directed to Merlin. Arthur feels the other man shift uncomfortably on the bed. When he turns to him, Merlin’s cheeks are red.

“He’s… not mad at me?” Merlin asks in a tiny voice.

“He is a bit. In a fond way. He says you’re lucky to be alive, but he likes you anyway.”

Merlin mumbles something incomprehensible, something in between _good_ and _oh, God_. Arthur isn’t sure which option he likes less.

“Come on, Merls,” Will says, finally having finished slurping his tea. “Everyone loves you. You know that.”

“Yeah, like, apart from 99% of the population,” Merlin snorts.

“All the important people like you. That’s what matters.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Arthur says, “but what are we doing? Are we coming back, Merlin?”

The look Merlin shots him melts Arthur’s heart. It’s a combination of _do we really need to_ and _I want to keep you and snog you and never let you go_.

“I guess we’ll have to,” Merlin says instead. “You can’t stay here indefinitely.”

“It’s not like we’re never gonna see each other again when we come back, Merlin,” Arthur says. “Don’t look so crestfallen. But maybe I should wait anyway. Till Morgana finds a flat. I don’t have anywhere to stay, and I’m not going to cramp your place,” Arthur says to Freya. 

“Well, for one, you can turn your phones on now,” Freya says. “Then, you won’t need me as your proxy anymore.”

It takes a whole amount of ten seconds before their newly turned-on phones start buzzing incessantly, taking on the burden of a few days’ worth of texts and calls. Arthur gets dozens of messages from co-workers, but only a single call from Uther; there is even a text from Sophia, _We’ll get you, bastard_ , from three days prior. Arthur shows it to Freya with a questioning are-you-sure-it’s-safe-now glance, and Freya shakes her head, smiling.

“It’s all right now, it was before Morgana and the protest,” she says.

Meanwhile, Merlin is frowning, reading, and when Arthur ducks his head to see what’s on his screen, he yanks away his phone.

“Oi! These are my texts! Some privacy, maybe?”

“Well, you look worried,” Arthur retorts. “Forgive me for wanting to check on you.”

“It’s Edwin.” Merlin sighs. “A long, long message from Edwin, telling me how worried he is and how careful I should be with you. I think he’s being genuine.”

“Then tell him you’re all right.”

“I don’t think he’ll believe me. I don’t think he’ll ever trust you fully.”

“That’s his problem,” Arthur says. “When we come back, I can show him. But I’m not going to dance before him just to prove I’m not some kind of a monster he’s imagining me to be.”

“I’m going to call him,” Merlin says suddenly.

“You sure it’s a good idea?”

Merlin nods. “I’m going for a walk. And you can also call whomever you like.”

Arthur knows very well that’s precisely what he’s going to do. He has to speak to Morgana.

He excuses himself from Will and Freya and walks out of the room. After a moment, he realizes Merlin’s idea for a walk was a rather good one. In the caravan, the walls are thin as paper, and he doesn’t necessarily care for being overheard by the still semi-hostile Will. Arthur takes his jacket from the handle and goes out, choosing a different direction than Merlin.

“Hello?” His sister’s voice is unsure, as if she didn’t believe entirely that it’s Arthur who’s calling from his own phone, not some kind of a kidnapper who stole it.

“Morgana!” Arthur cries out. “I’ve missed you.”

There is a relieved sigh on the other side of the line. “I’ve missed you too,” Morgana says. “Has Freya arrived?”

“Yeah. I know everything you did. The interview. You practically run away from home, sis. I thought you aren’t supposed to do those things anymore when you’re past your teenage years.” Arthur tries to sound playful, to assuage the stress that Morgana must now be feeling. And with her newly discovered magic on top of it! She must be almost destroyed by it all.

“Well, I didn’t take my chance then, so I might as well do it now,” Morgana mutters. “I’m trying to find us a flat, you know. And I’m transferring as an independent therapist. I’m trying to affiliate myself with prof. Alice. That would require going to a training program with her, though.”

“Jeez, I’m so sorry I’m not there with you,” Arthur says. “I wish I could help you.”

“I’ll manage. I always do.” Though Arthur can’t see her, he bets Morgana is smiling now, with a kind of resigned, sad smile that she always has when she knows she has to do something unpleasant.

As Arthur’s talking, he almost reaches the last houses in Ealdor. He turns around, slowly walking back to the caravan. The day is cold and windy, and his right hand, which is clutching the phone, has all gone red around the knuckles.

“Just tell me when to come back,” he says. “I’m going to have my phone turned on now.”

“I’m seeing a flat tomorrow,” Morgana answers. “I’ll let you know if it’s all right.”

“Sure. Talk to you then?”

“Arthur,” Morgana interrupts, and her voice is stern. “Are you going to say anything about your mum?”

Arthur sighs. He was afraid to start the topic. Now, that the prospect of meeting Igraine is suddenly a possibility, not just a dream, he dreads it.

“Should I ask Morgause to write to her?” Morgana asks.

“Well… yes, I wanted to meet her, so I will. Yes, please. I don’t know about flying, though. Maybe we could talk on Skype? For a start?”

“Okay, I’m going to suggest that.”

Soon after, they end the call. Arthur slowly heads back to the caravan. Just as he’s about to tuck his phone into the pocket, it buzzes. There is a new message in his inbox.

Uther.

_Where are you? I am sorry for any pain I might have caused you. Tell me if you’re all right. I want to talk to you._

A flash of pain goes through Arthur’s body. Not physical pain, of course. Or, is it really even pain? It’s a mixture of anxiety, anger, fear, and even guilt.

_He says he’s sorry._

_Yeah_ , the other part of Arthur’s mind responds, _but he made too much of a mess to repair it with one “sorry”. And he still doesn’t acknowledge his guilt fully. “Might have caused you pain”, indeed._

 _But he’s worried about me_ , the guilt’s speaking. _For all he knows, I could be dead. He must be worried sick._

Arthur frowns to himself. _I don’t have a duty to inform him about my every move._

 _Should I talk to him?_ Arthur feels like, if he keeps asking himself this question again and again, he’ll crumble eventually. Uther has always been such a strong personality. Even after everything he’s done, Arthur, in the darker hours of his life, is worried that his father would still be able to convince him that all he did was for the best – if only he tried long enough.

_I should be strong. I shouldn’t talk to him._

_But he’s your father._

_And what of that? If my father was a mass murderer, should I talk to him, too?_

“Well, I suppose just writing that I’m okay won’t do any harm,” Arthur mutters to himself, walking by Mr. Matthew’s house and heading straight to the caravan.

 _I’m fine. I need space_ , he writes and clicks “send” before he’s able to have any second thoughts.

 _He’s now left all alone_ , he thinks. _He must be lonely. Maybe he’s counting on me because he lost Morgana. I have always been the one more easily manipulated._

And suddenly, Arthur’s angry that he did write back. Brusquely, he shoves his phone into his pocket.

Inside, Freya is still sitting with Will, chatting. Merlin is beside Will, also having apparently finished his call. And, judging by his face, he didn’t have the best experience of it either.

“You talked to Edwin, then?” Arthur asks.

“Yeah. And to Mum,” Merlin mutters, clearly uneager to elaborate. Arthur decides not to push.

“So,” he says, directing his words to Will and Freya, “are you two…” _staying_ , he means to add, but stops himself, afraid that this is going to give them ideas. The caravan is tiny even for two people. Arthur doesn’t want to imagine spending the night with two additional guests, especially if Will stays like that, grumbling.

“Oh no, don’t worry,” Will says sarcastically. “I’m heading back soon. What about you, Freya?”

“I guess you’re my ride.” She smiles. “I can’t really teleport, you know.”

“Pity. What about you, Merls? You coming with us? There is space in the car.”

 _Hardly_ , Arthur thinks as he eyes Merlin uncertainly. Reasonably thinking, there is no need for him to stay in Ealdor, if he’s really safe from Sophia and Aulfric now. He has a flat to come back to, and a worried mum to console. Arthur can’t help but pray that Merlin stays with him, though. It would be so terribly lonely here without him. Probably just a few days, till Morgana finds a flat, but still… Arthur tries to think of all the stuff he’s going to be left with if he stays here alone. The possibility of talking to his mum. His unemployment. Uther trying to contact him. The uncertainty.

He tries to practice the mind defences Merlin has been teaching him to build. He doesn’t want Merlin’s decision to be influenced by a stream of Arthur’s consciousness. He squints, trying to build imaginary walls around his mind. Hyper-focused on that, he almost misses it when Merlin says:

“Nah, mate, I’ll stay here. It’s just a few days anyway. We’re having a good time.”

“Suit yourself,” Will says, visibly disappointed.

Arthur can’t help but feel relief.

***

“I… I think I have a job for you,” Merlin says when Will and Freya are gone. “That is, Edwin has.”

The conversation with Edwin wasn’t an easy one. Merlin wavered between being angry at him and mildly grateful at his change of heart; but Edwin was worried, and that was far worse.

“Are you sure the Pendragon is trustworthy?” he kept repeating, and Merlin was almost tempted to tell him _he threw all his life away, of course he’s trustworthy_ , but he didn’t want to bare Arthur before Edwin like that. Instead, he said:

“If he wasn’t, you’d be answering to the police right now, so don’t you dare doubt him.”

“I met his sister, you know,” Edwin said. “She seems… okay, I guess. A bit lost, but okay. But you, my lad, are a volcano of emotions. You need peace and quiet, not new heartbreaks. Just sayin’, kiddo, just sayin’.”

“Arthur knows that,” Merlin said firmly. “He said he’ll give me space if I need it.”

Edwin’s sigh on the other end of the line couldn’t be a clearer indication of an _I very much doubt it_ sentiment. Thankfully, he apparently decided to let it go for now.

“Arthur’s in finance, isn’t he?” Edwin asked instead. 

“Yeah.”

“Triskelion needs someone to take care of their finances. Grant you, they don’t really have much of a salary to pay him. Probably not even a third of what he must have earned at bloody Magic Now. Still…”

“I’ll tell him,” said Merlin quickly. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to help.”

Right now, as Merlin tells Arthur about the offer, he’s not so sure. After all, it’s within Arthur’s rights to demand a proper pay for his work – whatever that pay is, anyway; Merlin has no idea how things work in the world of finance. Arthur might be all good and benevolent, but he also needs to eat. He doesn’t have the support of his father now, and judging from the news on Morgana, she might also be going through a rough time.

Arthur entwines his hand with Merlin’s.

“I’ll have to talk to them about the specifics,” he says, reasonably. “First, I need a flat. Then, we’ll see.”

Merlin takes his hand and kisses it. Arthur blushes. 

“You stayed with me,” Arthur says. “Thank you.”

“Of course I did. I didn’t want to leave you to your demons. I know this loneliness all too well.”

 _Edwin wouldn’t like it_ , Merlin thinks, guarding his thoughts. _He’ll think I’m codependent. Well, if he can’t distinguish between love and codependence, that’s his problem._

“Come here,” Arthur says, pulling him closer. Merlin clings to him, his ear pressed to Arthur’s chest, where he can hear the rhythm of his heart, beating incessantly, pumping blood to Arthur’s limbs. Somehow, this feels almost more intimate than Arthur being inside him. Almost. Merlin can hear Arthur’s blood rushing in his body, he can hear his muscles tensing and relaxing. He can hear the tingle of something under Arthur’s skin, something imperceptible. Maybe it’s the emotions vibrating? Merlin doesn’t know. He lifts his head and isn’t at all surprised when he finds Arthur’s lips ready to meet his.

Their kiss is long and wet, but not hungry. This time, it conveys Arthur’s gratitude and Merlin’s silent love. 

Merlin can still understand Edwin’s concerns. But kissing Arthur like that, having him so close – he knows that for once in his life, he chose well.

***

It’s after some time of this silent kissing that Arthur’s phone buzzes again and a new message comes.

_Can we talk?_

Father.

“What is it?” Merlin asks.

“Dad…” Arthur says. The serenity from seconds before is gone, and Arthur’s stomach is clenched with anxiety. “He wants to speak to me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you written to him?” Merlin’s frown suggests worry and puzzlement.

“Only to let him know that I’m all right. He asked, so I didn’t want him to worry.”

“Right. Well… If I were you, I wouldn’t talk to him just yet. He knows you’re alive. That’s all he needs to know at the moment. You don’t have to fight another battle with him.”

“I guess he must be lonely now, that Morgana’s gone too.”

“That’s his own doing,” Merlin says sharply. Arthur winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right, anyway. I… I’m a bit scared that he’ll try to convince me to do his bidding again.”

“Well, you won’t let him then, will you?”

Arthur eyes Merlin miserably. For all his life, he tried to be strong. Decisive. That’s what Uther taught him, after all.

He never learned how to be decisive in the presence of his father, though.

“Of course I won’t,” he says now, but his voice trembles a little.

Merlin puts his hand on Arthur’s arm.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to face him, you know,” he says. “It’s okay if you won’t be for a long time. Or never. You don’t have to be a soldier.”

“It just feels so childish and cowardly to be hiding from him,” Arthur whispers, misery clenching his throat. 

“It’s not childish when you want to protect yourself. You don’t owe him anything.”

“He’s my father.”

“So what? My father left me. I don’t have to seek him. Yours has too, only in a different way.”

“You’re right, of course,” Arthur says, sighing with relief. He knows it’s only temporary, but for now, he wants to cling to it. Maybe one day, he’d be able to console himself like that. Maybe one day, he won’t feel this terrible guilt.

He puts his phone away and returns to kissing Merlin.


	6. Chapter 6

After a few more days of walking, training Merlin’s magic, training Arthur’s mind defences and a fair share of shagging, Arthur gets a call from Morgana.

“I found us a flat,” she says. “Are you coming back?”

Arthur is relieved. Time spent with Merlin is always a good time, but there is no denying that they both have been longing for some new stability, and unplanned holidays in Ealdor aren’t necessarily as relaxing as they could be if Arthur doesn’t know if he has somewhere to come back to. So, having finished talking to Morgana, Arthur immediately lets Merlin know that he’s going to pack his stuff and head home.

Home. What does it even mean? Was Arthur’s former flat his home, or only a temporary refuge? Arthur honestly can’t tell, but the one thing he knows is that he intends to make this new space a home. They will both be like refugees there, Morgana and him – probably a bit broken, but they’ll try to pick up the pieces and create something new. And, judging by the way Freya talked about Morgana recently, they might even acquire some friends. Maybe Arthur will, for once, be able to form friendships a bit deeper than just having drinking buddies, like Gwaine. Maybe the people he’ll meet in Triskelion – because he does intend on going there and inquire about the job – will be open towards a non-magical ally.

And then, there will always be Merlin.

Maybe it’s unfair to think about him like that, assuming that he’ll always be there – but one thing Arthur is certain of, is that this is going to be a long-term thing. Arthur has never felt so comfortable with letting someone other than Morgana to be so close to him. And that must be a good sign.

They are packed (well, mostly Arthur is packed – Merlin, though he’s been shamelessly using Arthur’s clothes, doesn’t feel inclined to help him with the suitcase), sitting in Arthur’s car, about to set off. Arthur looks at the caravan.

“I will always remember this place,” he says quietly. “It changed everything.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Come on, we can come back any time you want. Will may be a bit grumpy, but he’s not mean.” He kisses Arthur’s cheek. “Let’s go.”

Arthur smiles to himself. He loves Merlin’s passion, he loves having sex with him. But those moments of simple, little affection touch him the most.

Arthur turns on the car.

***

The flat is rather compact. Morgana rented it almost fully furbished, so there is at least one mercy: they won’t have to break into Arthur’s former flat to snatch closets and beds. Still, there is so much stuff Arthur left in his old flat, that he’d rather find a way to access it.

That would be hard without contacting Uther, though.

For now, Arthur doesn’t want to think about it. He has his laptop, phone and most of his clothes, so he’s good. When he parks his car by the building – Merlin’s still with him, of course – Arthur whistles, looking up.

“Which floor is it on?” Merlin asks.

“The fifteenth,” Arthur answers. The fifteenth floor isn’t even halfway to the top of the building.

From the moment they enter, it’s clear that Morgana thought about their diminished finances. In this part of the city, there are no fashionable lofts with vast windows. But it’s also Merlin’s part of the town. They will be living almost two blocks away.

Morgana greets Arthur with a fierce hug, and then promptly hugs Merlin, while Arthur takes off his coat and looks around the flat. He’s received photos of it, but the real deal is always a bit different. It’s a two bedroom flat, though it’s hardly bigger than one bedroom flats Arthur got used to. The living room is a tiny space with a kitchenette in the corner and a blue sofa which takes three quarters of the space. Arthur’s intended bedroom is no bigger, and there is barely any space between the desk and the bed. The wardrobe is in-built into the wall.

Still, after the caravan in Ealdor, the flat seems almost spacious.

Arthur shoves his suitcase into his bedroom and sits on the bed.

“Right,” he says. “so, I have a place to sleep in. Now, let’s get to business. I want a contact to this Morgause.”

Morgana and Merlin are standing in the doorway to his bedroom, their expressions dubious, their brows raised. They look like mirror images of each other, which Arthur finds rather funny.

“You sure you don’t want to… unpack first? You know, rest?” Morgana asks pointedly.

“I’ve rested enough already. The idleness is killing me.”

“Right,” Morgana sighs, moving a little, breaking the freeze. “I wrote to her already. She wants to meet you at Triskelion. As soon as you’re able.”

“I’ll meet her tomorrow.”

“Arthur.” Morgana walks to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re anxious about your mum and all, but I feel there’s something else. Something that worries you and you want to make yourself busy to forget about it.”

Arthur’s chest deflates as he sits on his new bed. The mattress is soft and worn, probably too worn and too used by previous tenants – and that’s precisely how Arthur’s chest feels right now.

“Dad,” he says simply, not daring to look Morgana in the eye.

“You didn’t talk to him, did you?” she asks.

“No. Did you?”

“No. I know how he could be. I think we should give each other space for a while.”

Arthur gives her a wry smile. “What, have you been consorting with Merlin? He told me the same thing.”

“That’s because we’re both sane human beings,” Merlin says. Arthur can tell that he tries to sound playful just to cheer him up.

“I just don’t think we’re both ready yet,” Morgana continues. “Tell me you won’t agree to meet with him.”

“What, never?”

“I’m not saying never. But not now. I have a bad feeling.”

Arthur eyes her cautiously. “A normal bad feeling or a magical-prophetic-dream bad feeling?”

Morgana frowns. She looks guilty. “The latter,” she says.

“Shit. What, did you dream about him killing me, or what?”

“No. But you were arguing with him, and he was trying to hurt someone. I don’t know who it was. Maybe Merlin. Or someone else. And… he did something to you. Like, he looked at you in this terrifying way and there was redness in your eyes. It was absolutely horrifying.”

Arthur laughs. He tries to make it an amused laugh, but he just sounds insincere. “Now, I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit. It must have been just a regular nightmare, sis. There’s no way Dad would do anything like that to me.” He vaguely remembers Sophia’s eyes flashing red, though. Something which, at the time, he took for his delirious vision.

“Maybe he won’t do it,” Morgana muses. “But maybe someone else will. Enchant you, like.”

“I think that’s taking it a bit too far,” Merlin interrupts. “This is just one vision. If it’s really supposed to happen, it may mean any number of things.”

“But in any case, it wasn’t good,” Morgana says. “And it will happen.”

“Or not happen at all. The future isn’t set in stone.”

“Then why am I getting these visions?” Morgana asks, her voice raised irritably. “Don’t they come to warn me?”

Merlin sighs. He walks to the bed and sits on Arthur’s left side. “Seeing is just another ability,” he says. “It’s a part of magic, like floating objects, or shapeshifting. You can perfect it in time, but the sheer existence of this ability doesn’t mean there is a purpose to it. That is, I don’t want to convince you that things don’t have a purpose,” he raises his hand, as if protecting himself from Morgana’s possible attack, even though she doesn’t say anything. “If you want to believe in a higher purpose, it’s fine. But personally, I don’t think there is a purpose to my floating objects or making butterflies, unless I make it so.”

“Great,” Morgana mutters. “Very philosophical. But that doesn’t change the fact that _I can still see the future_. And even if it’s one of the many possible futures, we should do something to avoid it. Arthur shouldn’t go to meet Uther.”

“I’m with you on that,” Merlin says. “But not because of a vision. It’s because I don’t think it’s a good idea for him emotionally.”

“I won’t meet with Dad, all right?” Arthur cuts in. “I have other things on my mind. Now give me Morgause’s email. And if you dream anything else, sis, then we can talk.”

When Morgana doesn’t really look convinced, still biting her lip, Arthur puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Please don’t worry,” he says. “Everything will be all right.”

Morgana sighs. “Fine. Just don’t make me say _I told you so_.”

*** 

Arthur goes to sleep alone that night, savoring the new, comfortable mattress on his new bed in his new home. He surely does hope it’s going to be a home. Merlin is gone, as they both agreed that his mother definitely needs his presence more than Arthur does right now. But of course Arthur already misses him. _I’m going to see him tomorrow_ , he thinks. _We’re going to go to Triskelion to find about this job they might have for me._

_And then, I’m taking Merlin to a movie. Or to a park._

If they are supposed to be together, they’re going to go on a proper date. And from now on, everything’s going to get better. Arthur will start a new life; he’s going to reconnect with his mother, and he’ll leave the painful past behind.

Everything’s gonna be all right.

His phone buzzes on the side drawer near the bed.

Arthur grunts, opens his eyes reluctantly and reaches for the phone. It’s just a text, but still, it’s around midnight already, and he wants to sleep. It might be Merlin, though.

It’s Uther.

_You are the most important thing in my life, son. Can we please schedule a meeting and talk?_

Arthur groans. His newfound serenity goes out of the window. Instead, there is a pounding in his chest, and a wave of guilt, again.

 _He never told me that before_ , Arthur thinks glumly, not knowing if he wants to be mad or moved. _Maybe he really did realize what he lost._

_What am I going to do?_

Arthur wishes Merlin was here. He would probably tell him to ignore the text. And if he were to go to the next room and wake Morgana up, she’d definitely tell him to turn his phone off and go to sleep.  
But Arthur isn’t so sure. He knows he has to make decisions for himself. He can’t be relying on Merlin for everything. And he can’t blindly believe in every dream Morgana might have. Decisions are supposed to be made on a basis of reality, not nightmares.

It’s late now, anyway. His father can’t be reasonably expecting him to write back. He’ll sleep on it, and make the decision in the morning.

If he’s able to fall asleep, that is.

The phone buzzes a second time and Arthur jumps in his bed.

But this time, it’s Merlin.

_Goodnight. Love u. <3_

Arthur smiles to himself, relaxing a little.

_Goodnight. Love u 2. :*_

With a heavy sigh, he goes to sleep.

***

Triskelion Fund office is located on the outskirts of the city, and it takes ten subway stations and a half hour ride on the bus to get to the place from Arthur and Merlin’s area.

“Jeez, the drive to work must be great in the mornings,” Arthur grumbles when they finally leave the bus and find themselves in a half-developed area of decrepit hangars, a few old houses and an unspecified wasteland-turned-meadow.

“You don’t have to take this job,” Merlin says. “You definitely shouldn’t, if it’s going to make you this grumpy.”

Merlin sure hopes Arthur actually does end up with a reasonable job, and Triskelion really sounds like something that could bring him the sense of purpose he seeks. Also, he has a quiet hope that maybe working with magicals would help Arthur stay firm and unwavering in face of Uther’s clear attempts at luring his son back to Magic Now. So, Merlin really counts on Arthur getting over the grumbling.  
He also really hopes the people at Triskelion won’t be too grumpy about him. Especially Edwin.

Merlin met Arthur in the morning at his new flat – it was really conveniently located, it had taken Merlin barely ten minutes to get there – and promptly took care of Arthur’s wardrobe. The man had planned to go to Triskelion in a full suit and a red tie. _Arthur, those are activists who spent half their lives protesting on streets_ , Merlin said. _You can really use some button-down shirt, it’ll be fine._ So, they went through the change of wardrobe (Merlin might have taken a rather active part in the whole process, leaving Arthur with one or two lovebites in places he was sure nobody from Triskelion would see), and through the round of Hunith’s homemade lemon cake (Merlin’s favourite, and his welcome-home gift). They said goodbye to Morgana, who for her part was getting ready for a round of paperwork aimed at changing her affiliation from Magic Now to independent – and they set off.

“You’re quiet,” Merlin says now, as they slowly walk in what Google maps is showing to be their destination. “Troubled about something? I know Edwin’s probably gonna be intense, but there are plenty of other people there, and most of them nice. If you’re worried about Morgause, then I can accompany you when you talk to her, if you want me to.”

Arthur sighs, slumping his shoulders, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets. “It’s not that,” he says. “I still don’t know what to do about Dad.”

“What, did he write to you again?”

“Yeah. Yesterday evening. Apparently, I’m very important to him.”

Merlin frowns. He doesn’t have a good feeling about this. The way it’s going, he’s almost inclined to believe that Morgana’s future might come to pass. “If it’s true, then why didn’t he tell you that before?” Merlin asks. “When you had a talk about your mum, for example?”

Arthur shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You must see he’s trying to get you back. And he’s not playing fair.”

“I know, I know. It’s just… difficult. I feel _guilty_. I have nothing to be guilty about.”

Merlin puts a hand around Arthur’s waist. “Well, let’s focus on Triskelion for now, shall we? Don’t let your dad distract you.”

Arthur shoots Merlin a grateful glance. “Okay.” 

They stop for a kiss. Arthur’s lips are parched and Merlin wonders if it’s the stress.

The building which is apparently their destination is a two-storey free-for-all-business kind of thing. There are multiple banners hanging from every window, and several arrows are pointing to different buttons on the buzzer to indicate which one to press to get to the right place. There is a printing shop in the back ( _go through the back yard, first door on the right_ ), a vet on the first floor, and apparently even a psychic on the second (Merlin wonders if the said psychic is a seer or a regular charlatan). Triskelion is on ground zero, and Merlin firmly presses the buzzer with an ancient Celtic symbol painted green.

“Hello?” says a distorted female voice in the speaker.

Before Merlin is able to ask _Freya? Is that you?_ , Arthur gently shoves him aside and says:

“It’s Arthur Pendragon. For the interview.”

Merlin claps a hand on his forehead. “Arthur, stop being so bloody formal. It’s not your dad’s office.”

Arthur shoots him a murderous glance. “If I’m going to work here, I might as well be professional.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Merlin shrugs, pushing the door as it buzzes sharply. He winces at the sound. “If you’re really going to work here, you’ll loosen up soon enough.”

“Why did you even come with me?” Arthur asks as they go down a dark corridor (the light switch was broken) to the right door. “I really don’t need a babysitter during my own interview.”

“I wanted to come, you pillock,” Merlin retorts, “because I also want to do something for them, even if they can’t pay. A gap year’s all good, but after a while, it gets a bit boring.”

“Last weeks weren’t enough of a thrill for you?” Arthur asks and Merlin sticks out his tongue.

And that is precisely the moment when Triskelion’s door open and they are greeted by Edwin.

***

“Arthur Pendragon,” Edwin says with this sleazy, infuriating voice of his. “What times do we live in. Please, come. Don’t look so hostile.”

Arthur doesn’t know how he looks – he doesn’t have a bloody mirror in his eyes – but he does suspect.

“Be happy that I don’t scream upon seeing you,” he mutters. “In normal circumstances, I should put you in jail. And go to therapy to treat the PTSD after our last encounter.”

Edwin flashes him a truly hideous smile.

“I’m glad we agree that the circumstances aren’t really normal. You wouldn’t like to put Merlin in jail along with me.”

“Don’t even start,” Arthur says, and takes a breath to say I will destroy you if you even so much as allude to it again, but that is the moment when Merlin steps in between them.

“Guys, guys,” he says, “just stop. Please. This was supposed to be a reconciliation.”

“Merlin?” comes a voice from behind Edwin and soon, the unpleasant guy is shoved aside by small, yet apparently very persuasive Freya. “Come in, both of you. And please, Edwin, none of your irony.”  
Merlin laughs nervously. “I’m really glad I came along,” he says. “I can act as a magical shield for those two.”

He hugs Freya who soon lets him go and hugs Arthur, taking some of the tension from his arms. 

“How was your trip home with Will?” Arthur asks. “Not too bad, I hope?”

“Why? Will’s very nice company. Once he stops freaking out about _driving with a fucking cat-person in his own car_ , that is.”

This time, they all laugh, even Edwin.

“Come,” Freya says. “I’ll show you around. Then you’ll talk to our boss. Don’t worry about her. She looks intimidating, but she’s really okay.”

“Is that who I think it is?” Arthur asks, but before Freya’s able to give a response, a third person appears in the corridor and Arthur recognizes the blonde with piercing eyes and a heavy eyeliner from the TV.

“Morgause Gorlois,” the woman says. “I got your email, Arthur. It’s very nice to meet you.”


	7. Chapter 7

“First, we talk business,” Morgause says in a matter-of-fact voice. “Everything else comes next.”

As they walk into Morgause’s office, leaving Freya, Edwin and Merlin behind, Arthur notices that Edwin’s brows rise expectantly upon the words everything else. Arthur frowns, sensing trouble, but Morgause picks up Edwin’s behaviour immediately.

“If you want to ask me a question, do it now, or shut it,” she says. “I’m not in habit of discussing personal things with third parties. You should be happy to be admitted here, after all the extra effort you put into disregarding the law.”

Edwin lets out a semi-outraged huff and retreats to a different room.

“Please, Arthur,” Morgause gestures for him to come in, shutting the door behind them. 

It’s a normal office, with a desk, a laptop and two chairs – only, there is far less space than in any office at Magic Now, and the little space that’s left is occupied by heaps of papers and towers made of books. Arthur navigates between them carefully, fighting his way to a chair. Somebody really needs a temp to clear up this mess, he thinks. I could do that out of sheer hatred for chaos. If they paid me, of course.

Morgause takes the other chair behind the desk, taking off her rather un-office-like black leather jacket. In general, Arthur has a feeling that she’d be much more at home at a rock concert than in an office. It’s good Merlin insisted on him dressing down. He’d feel ridiculous if he didn’t.

Morgause comes straight to the point.

“I’m sorry about Edwin,” she says. “I know what must be going on in your head, meeting him like that after everything that happened. Believe me, I wasn’t too happy about his and Aulfric’s over-the-top villainy. But needs must, sometimes.”

_Edwin, Aulfric and Sophia. Don’t forget Sophia_ , Arthur thinks. Out loud, he asks: “So, did Triskelion have anything to do with the breech?”

Morgause smiles in a rather dangerous way. “Not officially, of course. Edwin isn’t a member of Triskelion. But he sometimes helps out. I’m not necessarily opposed to more drastic measures – as far as they are not terrorist measures, of course. Though I do realize how unattractive it might sound to you.”

Arthur winces, but keeps going. “I’ve been making some progress in trying to understand the perspective of an oppressed group,” he says, congratulating himself on sounding professional. It’s a much better way of describing things than, say, _I’ve been talking to Merlin about it for days._

“I’m glad to hear that.” Morgause taps her desk, leaning in her chair. “Of course, if everything were up to me, I would have found a different way of obtaining that video. The over-the-top is Aulfric and Sophia’s signature. When we at Triskelion found out about their plans, there was nothing left to do for us other than taking advantage.”

“So, they aren’t members of Triskelion?”

“Oh, no. They are independent. And fuelled by revenge, which is no wonder. But,” Morgause smiles again, and Arthur swallows. It’s entirely possible she’s genuinely trying to be nice, just making a poor job of it. “…I didn’t invite you here to talk about the breech. You worked in finance before, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” Arthur half-consciously readjusts himself in his chair, smoothing his trousers. That’s the beginning of the actual interview.

“Have you any experience in gaining investors?”

“More like keeping the ones that are already there,” Arthur says. “Gaining them was my father’s specialty, back in the day. But from time to time, Magic Now would need a new sponsor, and the responsibility for persuading them was mine. So yes, I am familiar with it.”

“Good. We really need investors for Triskelion. We need this money, and right now, as Magic Now is in the most precarious position it’s been in years, maybe there is a chance someone would understand that our campaigns and research is actually designed to help magical kids,” Morgause says, and Arthur frowns a little. It still feels like a betrayal, going to Father’s so-called enemies, just like that.  
Morgause continues. “I’d hate to see one more magical in danger because they couldn’t afford professor Alice’s ring. We try to promote her research, but it is difficult without funds.” She opens her laptop and starts clicking. For a minute, she doesn’t say anything, engrossed in whatever she’s scrolling through.

“So…” Arthur starts, unsure what to say, “what else do you want me to do?”

“Whatever you’re good at,” Morgause mutters, still scrolling.

“And… you’ll hire me, just like that?”

She shots him a steady glance. “You’re clearly a professional. You’re good at your job, as your record from Magic Now shows. The question is, do you want to work here? I can See that you do, just as I can See that you’ll be good at it.”

It takes Arthur a minute to realize what type of Sight Morgause is talking about. He lets out a quiet huff. It still takes some adjusting to accept that some people can see the future, or understand people’s intentions without any extra effort.

“You’re probably wondering about the pay,” Morgause says. “You do realize we cannot pay you as much as Uther would have, do you?”

“I know. I don’t do it for money.”

That, finally, sparks Morgause’s attention enough, so that she shoves her laptop away. “What do you do that for, then?”

“Justice, I guess. I’ve been lied to all my life. I want to right the wrongs I might have caused.” After a moment, Arthur adds: “And for Merlin. And my mum.”

At the mention of Igraine, Morgause’s eyes lighten with a faint spark. “You know we are technically a family, Arthur?” she asks. “I met you when you were a little child. You wouldn’t remember. I was fifteen myself.”

“You’re right, I don’t remember,” Arthur says warily. “But I know you can tell me if my mum wants to talk to me.”

Morgause nods. “I’ve written to her yesterday. Give her some time to respond.”

Arthur smiles. “Good.”

“But be careful. It’s painful for her to talk about the past. And her wife is very adamant on her living in the present.”

“But I am the present. And I’m not my father.”

“I know that. But you deserve a fair warning. Don’t get your hopes up too high. Igraine might be reluctant to talk. Or, even if she wants to, she might choose to talk only for a short while.”

“I’m ready to accept that.”

Morgause smiles, this time a bit more warmly. “Good. I can see you’re in need of a new family. Well then, I’ll try and find you some.”

*** 

Morgana already had her home session with Mordred before Arthur and Merlin came back to town. It was still very unofficial, and she asked Mordred’s father to hold on with the payment till she manages to complete her paperwork.

Mister Cerdan gave her a rather puzzled look when she said that. But when she asked about the next session, he agreed, and more willingly than before.

Maybe he realized that Morgana really wanted to help Mordred.

But in order to do that, she herself needs help and training.

As she walks into professor Alice’s office, she wonders how the woman finds time for anything. She agreed not only to conduct Morgana’s own magical therapy-turned-training, but also share her expertise on training others – for free.

That’s actually one thing Alice shares with Gaius, even after all those years, Morgana realizes. As far as she could remember, Gaius has always been the kind of a professional who’d gladly stay overtime if he needed to finish an important part of research, or to talk to a patient. Only, no matter what he’d stubbornly claims, he isn’t _actually_ helping.

Professor Alice is.

“From what you’re telling me, Mordred needs to find a way to communicate with his parents,” professor Alice says once their therapy session is finished and the time for Morgana’s training has begun. “I’m really glad you didn’t try to force him to speak.”

“Wouldn’t have worked anyway,” Morgana says with a lopsided smile.

Professor Alice shoots her a rather dark glance. “I’m afraid it often works at Magic Now. In worst case, they’d call Aredian. They’d never ask about the cost of their so-called success.”

Morgana looks down, at her shoes. “I know.”

“Let’s leave it at that,” Alice says, a radiant smile coming back to her kindly face. “If you want to teach Mordred’s family to communicate with him, you must invite them to a couple of sessions. Teach them to listen to their son. It’s not easy, but it can be done. I have textbooks for that somewhere. Let me search for them.”

“How long would it take for them to hear him, do you think?” Morgana asks. “I heard him instantly, but I am magical. Do you think there are non-magical people who are… more sensitive to hearing thoughts?”

Morgana thinks about what Arthur told her: how the unfortunate bracelets seemed to trigger within him an ability to communicate telepathically with Merlin. Merlin thought it was something that Arthur must have been already capable of.

“Some people are more sensitive, yes,” professor Alice says absent-mindedly, searching for the textbook in her desk drawer. “At this stage, it’s really hard to say. We’d need to conduct tests, and tests need funding. Nobody has ever cared to check if at least some of those so-called _sensitive people_ aren’t really magical, only they might not know it.”

“Huh.” Morgana shifts in her chair. “But magic is connected to genetics, right?”

“Yes.”

“So… say, if somebody’s mother was magical, and this someone turned out to be sensitive to thoughts, would you say it would be reasonable to test them for magic?”

Professor Alice narrows her eyes, lifting her head from her desk drawer. “What degree of sensitivity are we talking about here? Is it just hearing thoughts or sending them as well?”

“Both,” Morgana says. “Only to one magic user, though. I don’t think A… that is, I don’t think _this person_ can hear other magicals.” 

Morgana tried, as soon as she heard about Arthur’s newfound ability. It wasn’t like she herself was really great at telepathy, but nonetheless, she made a little test on Arthur. _Tell me something in your thoughts_ , she said and waited. _Did you do that already?_ she asked after some time, and Arthur shot her a bemused look. _Didn’t you hear me?_ he asked. No. What did you say? 

_I told you to leave my thoughts alone._

It didn’t work.

“Interesting,” says professor Alice. “And I take that this… _person_ is your friend, right?”

Morgana nods. She probably should tell about the bracelets, as it might shed some light on the whole situation, but she dares not. It would be too raw a thing to say without Arthur’s consent.

“You know, many magicals still need training to be able to communicate freely with telepathy,” professor Alice says. “Their talents vary. But as you say, if this person’s mother was magical, and the ability is clearly there, I’d really encourage them to come here and get checked.”

“But it just seems so improbable,” Morgana muses. “I shattered windows, at least. I had nightmares. I don’t think anything like that happened here. It’s just these… thoughts.”

Alice smiles, wrinkles forming in the corners of her eyes.

“Magic has many faces,” she says.

***

Merlin is sitting in Arthur’s lap, distractedly roaming through his spell book while Arthur nuzzles at the back of his neck. The door to Merlin’s room is closed, but Hunith is in the kitchen, so Arthur at least tries to be relatively quiet. Merlin’s mum greeted him as if he was her lost son, pulling him into a fierce hug which communicated unconditional acceptance. Arthur’s body warmed up and relaxed at once.

Arthur kisses the back of Merlin’s neck in the spot where his hair starts, soft, slightly curly and smelling of some grapefruit shampoo. The kiss isn’t exactly chaste. It involves some licking and a small degree of biting. Arthur can’t really help that.

“You’re distracting me,” Merlin mutters, his voice low.

“I don’t think you really mind,” Arthur retorts, his voice partly muffled by Merlin’s warm skin. Once he started, he can’t stop kissing.

“How was the day at Triskelion?” Merlin asks.

“Do you really want me to tell you now? Can’t it wait… for after…” He bites down, more fiercely this time, and feels Merlin shiver under his touch.

“…after what?”

“Stop – teasing”, Arthur says, encircling Merlin’s waist and firmly closing the book in his hands. “Put that away.”

“Mum’s just next door,” Merlin protests weakly.

“So what? Can’t you muffle the sound with your magic somehow?”

Merlin laughs lightly. “You still don’t know shit about magic, do you?” He twists in Arthur’s embrace, leaving him briefly with nothing to occupy his lips with. Arthur frowns, but his discontent is quickly washed away when Merlin kisses him on the mouth, long, hot, slow and messy.

“The more time we spend together, the more I’ll know,” says Arthur when they finally break apart. “Kindly take your shirt off?”

Merlin grins, a full-teeth grin that Arthur loves, because it makes dimples in Merlin’s cheeks. Arthur ducks his head and kisses each dimple, startling a laugh out of Merlin. Merlin rushes to take his shirt off, yanking it away. Arthur takes in Merlin’s slender chest, kissing his collarbone and slowly going down. When he mouths on his nipple, lapping and twisting, Merlin moans, his voice unnaturally high, and the sound puts Arthur on edge. His cock is already hard.

And that’s when Arthur’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Don’t,” Merlin says quickly. “You’ll check it later.”

Arthur winces, unhappy. “It might be someone from work.”

“So what? You don’t have to be on your phone 24/7.”

Arthur sighs and takes the phone out, trying not to look at the screen. He pushes the mobile away. “Happy?”

Merlin smiles, kissing Arthur’s jaw. “Yes.” He pulls Arthur’s shirt, raising his eyebrows. Arthur takes the hint. This time, it’s Merlin who licks at Arthur’s nipple, and the motion combined with the way Merlin looks up at Arthur when he does it is so obscene and hot that Arthur surprises himself when he whimpers. 

“I’m not going to last,” he breathes out, more happy than embarrassed. It feels so good to be able to bare himself like that. To show Merlin his vulnerable side. That he trusts him. That his whole body loves Merlin the way Merlin’s magic loves Arthur.

The phone rings for the second time when they’re in their post-coital near-drunkenness, extra sensitive, lying in the bed one on the top of each other, their arms and legs entangled in a complex pattern.  
Arthur winces as the phone vibrates against his temple. He shoots an apologetic glance at Merlin.

“Go on,” Merlin mutters. “Take it.”

With a grunt, Arthur reaches for the phone – and frowns when he sees the caller’s ID.

Father. Again.

“What is it?” Merlin asks, sensing the tension in Arthur’s muscles.

“It’s Dad again,” Arthur says. “Fuck this.”

Merlin props himself on an elbow. His face is grave, his eyes narrowed. “He’s trying to win you over,” he says firmly. “He’s pestering you, waiting until you crumble. Don’t you see that?”

“Or, he’s really worried, and desperate to make amends.”

“Do you really believe that, Arthur?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Look,” Merlin says, leaning over Arthur, gently touching his cheek. “If he really had your best interest at heart, do you really think he wouldn’t understand that you need some space? If he really cared about your feelings, he’d wait. He’d be patient.”

“But he also has feelings. And he’s all alone.”

“Maybe you need to change your number,” Merlin suggests, his voice soft. When he sees Arthur’s no doubt shocked expression, he adds: “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I get it.” Arthur closes his hand around Merlin’s wrist, kissing his palm. “You were hurt by what he created. I know you’ll probably hate him forever. I don’t want you to change that. But he’s still my father. I… I just can’t…”

There they are, those treacherous tears again, sipping from the corners or Arthur’s eyes. Merlin wipes them away with his hand.

“Arthur. I know it’s messy and complicated. That’s precisely why you need time to think things through. Please, don’t talk to him. Not yet.”

Arthur sighs. “I can’t promise you that.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything. He only nods, unhappily, his face twisted in a mournful expression.

And Arthur feels like he’s betraying his father and Merlin at the same time.

He hates his life.

***

A day after her talk with professor Alice, Morgana has another session with Mordred. When she comes back home at 6 p.m., the flat is empty.

She’s not surprised. Arthur was supposed to be at Triskelion till 4 p.m. He told her the new job was hard but exciting, whatever that meant (Morgana knows absolutely nothing about finance). After work, he was probably supposed to go watch some movie at Merlin’s. Those two are the lovebirds in the early stages of infatuation, Morgana thinks fondly as she takes off her coat and shoes. She’s so happy for Arthur – finally standing on his own two feet, making a life for himself. They both are. Morgana’s learning new things about magic every day, and still helping those she always wanted to help. And tomorrow, she’s going to meet up with Freya again. Morgana really likes Freya. She hopes it could be a beginning of a good friendship.

She’s tired, but it’s good tiredness. Morgana still remembers the exhaustion she sometimes felt after a day’s work at Magic Now. Back then, she’d dismiss it, or attribute it to having a bad day. Now she knows her body – and her magic, most probably – was trying to give her signals. That she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

Morgana walks to the kitchen, intent on reheating some dinner in the microwave, but before she makes the first two steps, the doorbell rings. She frowns, confused. Then she remembers she was expecting a parcel with some rare books about magic. _Well, that’s lucky timing, at least_ , she thinks, walking back to the door.

The doorbell rings incessantly, as if someone planned to smash it to dust. _Bloody deliverers._ She’s expecting a parcel; she’s not expecting anyone to terrorize her with it.  
Abruptly, she opens the door. A passive-aggressive remark about damaging her buzzer dies in her throat as she sees Merlin.

Merlin, who looks pale as death and wide-eyed.

“What’s the matter?” she asks, shifting in the doorway to let him in. Merlin doesn’t move. “I thought you were with Arthur.”

“What?” Merlin asks absent-mindedly. After a second, Morgana’s words apparently hit him, as he cries out: “Hell! So he’s not here? He doesn’t answer his phone, dammit.”

“No, he’s not,” Morgana says, deciding to take control over Merlin’s lost body, practically pulling him inside the flat. “He told me he was going to see some movie with you.”

“Bloody lying _bastard_ ,” Merlin sputters. Morgana raises her eyebrows. “And he’s all too good in putting up the mind defences now, the prat. Fuck! I’m sure he went to talk to Uther. I told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Shit,” Morgana says. _My dream_ , she thinks frantically. _My dream is coming true._

“Yeah, shit. I need to rescue him.”

“What? I know our father isn’t… well, is far from ideal, but I’m not sure Arthur needs rescuing from him like some fairytale damsel in distress. It’s not like Dad would kill him or lock him away.”

“I know he wouldn’t. He’ll do worse. He’ll try to _convert him_ , I just know it.”

Morgana can’t help but approve of Merlin’s logic. There is a reason why she changed her phone number when Arthur came back. She knows how persuasive Uther can be sometimes, especially if he puts his mind into bugging someone who’s emotionally unstable at the moment.

“Where do you think they’ll be? Magic Now HQ or Uther’s house?” Merlin asks.

Morgana looks at her watch. 6.05 p.m. Not too late an hour for Uther to still be at work. But if he wanted to meet with Arthur and convert him, then he’d use every opportunity to have an upper hand. To use their mutual past to terrorize his son.

“The house,” Morgana says without much hesitation. “I… Should I come with you?”

“No, that’ll only make it worse,” Merlin says quickly, before checking himself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant. I’m not an outsider. I won’t be able to help.”

“Yeah. I’m not much of a one either. But still, better me than no one.”

“I’ll give you the address.” Morgana puts a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and squeezes. “Good luck, Merlin.”

“Thanks.”

When he leaves the flat, Morgana can’t help but think that she’s just sent Merlin into the lion’s den.

***

When Merlin sees Uther Pendragon’s house, he whistles.

He feels rather inadequate, roaming through the posh district, passing one villa after another, wondering which one of them might be the place. He sees old Victorian manors and modern glass contraptions, each one of them bigger than the other, feeling more and more intimidated with every step. What am I even going to do? he thinks. I’m not an ocean of serenity, for fuck’s sake. The ring has its limits, too. I’m going to explode. Or blast Uther with a lightning. Which, to be honest, he’s rather tempted to do. But which probably won’t be helpful.

Somehow, Uther’s house manages to be imposing even in comparison with all the other posh manors in the area. It’s one of the modern houses, all glass and sharp angles, the fence looking as secure and uninviting as castle defences. Merlin has a feeling that, were he to push the buzzer by the gate, someone might let the dogs loose on him. Not that he hears any dogs. This house looks far too sterile for them.

“Fuck me,” Merlin says to himself, frozen before the gate. “He doesn’t even need to speak, Uther does. The house speaks for him.”

Merlin’s terrified.

Arthur. Think of Arthur. Arthur, who probably grew up here, in this heap of glass, every inch of it an exact opposite of cozy. Arthur, for whom this isn’t only an intimidating house, but also a place with memories, some of them probably painful. Merlin can’t imagine how it must have been to grow up with Uther as a father. 

Arthur needs to run away from this place for good, Merlin thinks, and with a newly found resolve, pushes the doorbell.

He hopes somebody’s going to open the door.

After a while long enough for Merlin to lose all hope, a metallic, female, electronically distorted voice asks through the speaker:

“Who is this?”

“Um…” Merlin didn’t expect a female voice, and for a moment, his hands go all clammy as he worries he might have messed up the address, after all. “Is this the house of Uther Pendragon? Is Arthur here?”

“It is, but what is your business here, sir?”

Merlin starts to suspect it might be a housekeeper. _Good grief, of course he’d have a housekeeper._

“I’m Arthur’s boyfriend,” he says as firmly as he can. “I wanted to speak to him.”

“I’m not sure…” the voice starts, but then, there is some commotion, and the speaker renders broken shoving sounds. After a few seconds of what Merlin feels to be an eternity, another voice, a very familiar one, sounds through the speaker:

“Merlin, is that you?”

Merlin’s chest deflates. “Of course it’s me, you lying bastard. How could you not tell me about this?? Let me in.”

“Merlin, no. It’s my battle to fight.”

“You bloody well know it isn’t. Let me in – or come to me and let’s go.”

A metallic sigh.

“I can’t. I have to…” There is a faint echo of another voice in the background, a booming, commanding one. Uther. Merlin feels cold. “Oh, what the hell.”

The gate suddenly starts buzzing. Frantically, Merlin pushes it open. As he walks to the house through a very neat, sterile and lifeless garden (there is far more gravel and straight alleys there than actual plants), Merlin looks around uncertainly. As he suspected, there aren’t any dogs, after all.

Arthur is standing in the doorway, his silhouette dark, framed by a yellow rectangle of light. Merlin approaches him and looks at his face. With his forehead crinkled and his mouth twitching, Arthur seems to be unable to decide if he’s happy to see Merlin or angry at him.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” he says.

“What has he told you already, hm?” Merlin goes for a preventive attack. 

“He’s going to make things right,” Arthur says, his voice shaking. “He’s going to reconcile with my mum. And change Magic Now.”

“And you believe him? Why would he change now?”

“Because he loves us. Me and Morgana. He told me.” Arthur’s jaw is trembling, and Merlin feels a sudden urge to hug him. He has no heart to tell him _this isn’t real love, Uther doesn’t know how to do it._ Why wouldn’t Uther change? Maybe he really is capable of improving?

But then, Uther himself stands in the doorway, perfectly still and composed, and yet, frowning. Merlin feels as if this frown alone could smash him into pieces.

“Who is this man, Arthur?” Uther’s voice is even colder than his eyes. Arthur turns to him. There is so much fucking vulnerability in his eyes, Merlin can barely stand it.

“He’s… he’s…” Arthur stammers, and Merlin feels a sudden pang of disappointment, of all things. He can’t even say I’m his boyfriend, he thinks, and instantly knows it’s unfair to be mad at Arthur for that.

Uther doesn’t let Arthur finish. “Wait a minute. I recognize him. You are this… activist,” Uther spits out the word as if it burned him. “The one who encouraged people to boycott my company. You started everything. Who let you in? I’m calling the police.”

Uther’s voice doesn’t waver for even a second. It’s like a block of granite, pinning Merlin to the ground. 

Arthur’s father reaches to his pocket, apparently to retrieve his phone.

“No, wait!” Arthur waves his hands before Uther’s face. “No, please… he didn’t do anything wrong. I… he’s important for me. He’s my boyfriend.”

And there it is, finally. Uther raises his eyebrows.

“I see,” he says, very, very slowly. “It’s clear now. He besotted you. It’s understandable that you defend magic.”

“No, Dad…” Arthur starts, but Uther doesn’t let him finish.

***

“It’s all right, son,” Uther says, his gaze cold, but his voice still so awfully calm and reasonable, “I can see how it all happened. This magical tricked you, Arthur. He may have even enchanted you. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened. Clearly, he’s bitter because he was too hopeless a case even for our therapy.”

Arthur is falling apart.

Literally. He wouldn’t be surprised if he just collapsed here and now, one of his hands clutching Merlin, the other holding onto his dad. He can’t let Uther speak about Merlin like that. But he’s helpless against this levelled voice. He’s so small and weak, as if he was five years’ old again.

_Why did you come here, Merlin, why??_

Merlin probably hears him, because he puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur closes his hands into fists.

“You… you are not saying another word about Merlin,” he says, shakily. “It’s enough you destroyed Mum. You’re not destroying him, too.”

“Arthur, it’s all right,” Merlin says from behind.

“Come back inside, son.” Uther speaks louder, ignoring him. “We can still make things right. We haven’t finished our conversation.”

Arthur waivers in the doorway.

“Don’t,” Merlin says. “Let’s just go, there is nothing to be gained here.”

“You, magicals, only talk of gain,” Uther counters, staring at Merlin with so much hatred in his eyes that Arthur wonders how Merlin can stand it. “You don’t care about people. You don’t know what love is. Magic and power, gain and submission. Those are your only interests. I’ve seen dozens of you, locked in your own private worlds of spells, not minding anyone around you, turning your back on people who love you. You’ll push Arthur away sooner or later. You’ll break his heart. I’m not going to let you do this.”

Uther steps closer to them and Arthur’s suddenly seized by a gush of panic. _What is he going to do? He’s talking like he wants to kill Merlin._ It sounds absurd, like something straight from a B-rated movie, but Arthur is still scared out of his mind.

As Uther gets closer and closer – _is he going to punch him, or what?_ – Arthur’s first impulse is to step between them, to wrestle his dad if it came to it, to protect them from each other. He doesn’t think much. Everything happens within seconds. 

He throws himself between Uther and Merlin, raising his hands with an intent to block any physical attack.

But instead of merely stopping, Uther is suddenly yanked back, as if some invisible force pushed him, and he lands on the floor a few feet away.

Arthur feels a gush of wind passing through the corridor. But the day isn’t windy. It doesn’t come from the outside. Arthur doesn’t feel it on his skin. He feels it _inside him_.

His first impulse is to turn to Merlin, expecting him to be standing behind him with golden eyes and hands outstretched, having just used magic to push Uther away. Instead, he sees Merlin gaping, his face practically white, frozen in his spot.

“I-I didn’t do anything…” Merlin stammers, looking at his left hand – the one with the ring – in disbelief.

Arthur frowns. “What then?” he asks.

“I… I think…” Merlin starts, but he doesn’t finish, because they both hear Uther grunting as he tries to lift himself from the floor.

“The magical attacked me!” Uther yells, fumbling with his phone, possibly to call the police, or security.

“Let’s get out of here,” Merlin says, clutching Arthur’s hand, and they both run.


	8. Chapter 8

“That was you,” Merlin says firmly as they are safely back in Arthur and Morgana’s new flat, Arthur having drunk two teas and accepted a comfort blanket from his sister, and Merlin having gotten through a quick calming breathing exercise with Morgana ( _just breathe, Merlin, and imagine butterflies. There’s no way the police’s gonna come after you for pushing someone away. No, Uther’s powerful, but not THAT powerful. No, you didn’t kidnap Arthur, he’s an adult, don’t be afraid. Butterfiles, Merlin_ ). 

Arthur is sitting on a sofa in Morgana’s room, wrapped in the blanket like a burrito – not that it really helps for his totally destroyed nerves, but at least there is a semblance of normality. For now. Merlin is walking to and fro, flapping his fingers, his arms and legs fidgeting as if a small storm is brewing inside him. On his left index finger, the ring is glowing faintly.

Arthur feels guilty for putting Merlin in this state. If he hadn’t been such a fool and hadn’t gone to Uther’s house, none of this would have happened. Merlin wouldn’t have felt the need to rescue him.

And the _thing_ wouldn’t have happened.

“It was me?” Arthur echoes Merlin’s words. “Don’t be silly.” He looks at his hands in disbelief, stupidly, as if he expected them bearing some kind of evidence of the truth.

“Well, what was it then?” Merlin asks, waving his hands in the air. Arthur feels a light wind ruffling his hair. “I didn’t do it, I swear. There was no one else in the corridor. Magic doesn’t just flow around. And it definitely was magic.”

“No, it just doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never shown any… signs.” Arthur looks helplessly at Morgana who’s sitting beside him on the sofa. “With you, it was at least plausible, on account of some shattered windows, nightmares and all that. But me? I’m a perfectly mundane bloke.”

“Except you can hear my thoughts,” Merlin says. Morgana stays silent, looking at her hands.

“You told me yourself there are non-magicals who can do that,” Arthur counters.

“Yes, but maybe in your case it was a sign of something else.”

“Oh, come on, Merlin. Some more evidence, maybe?”

“Isn’t pushing your father a few feet away without touching him evidence enough?”

Arthur doesn’t know what to say to that. The truth is, he’s trying to talk about it casually, but deep inside, he’s scared as shit. Not about magic being dangerous, or anything like that. He’s past those prejudices already. But discovering something so fundamental about himself so late? It’s as if he’s been suddenly spun upside down. Having a magical boyfriend is one thing, but discovering being magical himself is quite another.

“Hey, it’s nothing to be scared of, love,” Merlin says in the meantime, reading Arthur all too well. He sits beside Arthur and rubs his back. “We’re gonna go to professor Alice, right?”

Morgana’s head suddenly shots upright.

“I… I may have already asked professor Alice one or two things,” she says.

“What??” Arthur looks at her in disbelief. 

“Don’t be mad.” Morgana winces as she says that, as if expecting Arthur to snap. “I was asking her about Mordred and telepathy. Then it came to me… and I asked casually about you. But didn’t tell her it was you. I was wondering about this thing of you talking to Merlin in your mind, and besides…”

“Besides what?”

“Well, I had the dream, didn’t I? The one I told you about? The one that practically came to pass today?”

Arthur stares at Morgana for a few seconds, in disbelief.

“Shit,” he says finally. “You… you thought someone enchanted me there. But it was my magic, wasn’t it?”

Morgana nods. “Most probably, yes.”

_And if her vision was accurate, that also means my dad saw my eyes glowing red. Shit._

“Did you talk about the vision to the professor as well?”

“No. I was embarrassed.”

“So, what did she tell you?”

“Nothing definite. There aren’t enough studies about telepathy, apparently. But she said magic has many forms.” She pauses. “…and I think that now, probably, we have a more substantial proof, at least.”

At that moment, Merlin joins in.

“You’ll need to go to professor Alice with that, Arthur,” he says, still fidgeting with his fingers. “She’ll tell you what to do next.”

“At this rate, she’d have to work 24/7 to manage with us all,” Arthur says, trying to make his voice sound playful. It doesn’t work.

“Maybe if I lent you my ring for a moment, we could see if you have any power?”

“No, no, what if…” _What if I suddenly do something huge and dangerous_ , Arthur wants to say, but he stops himself. He knows the ring was designed precisely to prevent that. He knows he probably should try it. But he’s scared. Because the other thought that comes to his mind is: _Merlin, I made you anxious again. If you take your ring off now, YOU might not be able to control your magic._

So Arthur bides his time.

“I still don’t understand it,” he says. “Morgana, you told me you feel your magic rushing through your veins like blood. I don’t feel anything like it. I was put in a magic supressing bracelet, for god’s sake. I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t have anything to be suppressed.”

“Maybe it just works different in your case,” Morgana mutters.

“You never knew what to look for,” Merlin says at the same time. “You didn’t know how your magic felt like, because as far as you were concerned, you didn’t have any. Morgana also told you she didn’t know it was magic flowing through her until she came to professor Alice’s session.”

“All right. Give me the ring,” Arthur mutters. “But only for a minute. You need it, Merlin.”

Merlin’s nervous smile falters as he takes off the ring. For a brief moment, the lights in the room flicker as if the power was going off, but nothing else happens.

“Breathe, Merlin,” Morgana says. “It’s all right. Flap your hands and breathe.”

Merlin does, but not before putting his ring into Arthur’s palm, brushing his fingers gently. Arthur’s cheeks colour, but not out of want – it’s out of shame. Merlin is too good for him.

Arthur waits for a few seconds before putting the ring on.

He places it carefully on his index finger.

He doesn’t feel anything.

“As I told you, all bollocks,” he says. “No change.”

“Wait a moment,” Morgana says.

So, Arthur waits some more seconds, but still, nothing happens. There is no rushing, no tingling, no anything. Arthur even closes his eyes, trying to search his mind for any signs of oddness. There are none.

“Okay, I’m done,” he says, reaching to his finger to take off the ring. He opens his eyes.

There are flickers of fire dancing above his moving hand.

“Fucking shit!” Arthur cries. “What the hell is that??”

Merlin, who’s been looking at him intently the whole time, trying to suppress his grin under a studious, serious expression, now doesn’t bother with holding back any longer, and laughs out loud. The lights jump in the air.

“That, sweetheart, is your magic,” Merlin says, and then promptly kisses the still very much dazed Arthur, not bothering with the flames. They don’t burn him, anyway.

***

_Dear Arthur,_

_Forgive me for imposing on you, but I thought you’d be happy to receive this email. Morgause gave me your address, and I decided it would be better to talk to you directly.  
Morgause told me what happened between you and Uther. I am so sorry you had to go through the shock of my existence’s discovery. It must have been a heavy blow, and I would do anything to comfort you. My dear, lovely Son. There is not a day that passes without me thinking about you and hurting because we had to be parted._

_I would be happy to talk to you on Skype. As soon as you’re ready._

_Remember, I always love you._

_Igraine_

***

_Mum,_

_I would like to talk to you as soon as possible. If it’s not a problem. I wish we could meet in person, but I can’t have it all I guess._

_I love you. I miss you._

_Arthur_

***

“I heard you went to your father’s house.”

Morgause’s voice is icy through the phone. Arthur shivers, feeling an almost physical gush of freezing air emanating from the device. Not that Morgause is able to freeze people remotely, of course.  
Arthur has felt cold at times since the fateful visit at Uther’s house.

“I did,” he says bravely. “I don’t deny it. But it was a mistake.”

“I hope you realize how much trust I put into you, tasking you with taking over the finances of Triskelion and renewing your contact with your mother.”

“I do.”

“Your recent action makes me think you may not yet be ready to work with us. Uther is a devious person, and if you’re not ready to ward off his emotional manipulation, maybe it’s better to wait before he makes you pass on some sensitive information.”

Arthur bites his lip. “I do get your concerns,” he says. “I really do. But listen… you know I changed my number. I’m not going to contact him anymore. It’s true, I’m in a… vulnerable state right now. But I started going to professor Alice’s therapy. I want to heal, but I also need to work.”

“Professor Alice?” Morgause asks, a note of incredulity in her voice. “Aren’t you wasting your time? For the problems with your father, I’d say you need regular therapy for non-magicals.”

“I am magical, Morgause.”

There is a short pause at the other end.

“Oh,” she says finally. “And you know how, exactly?”

“I… may have accidentally thrown my father across a room?”

Arthur pulls the phone away from his ear as Morgause laughs unexpectedly. “Oh, my.”

“Yes. It seems I am on a spectrum, in some weird liminal space where magic isn’t visible for more than twenty-five years, until it becomes so obvious my eyes shine red.”

“Interesting. That’s a rare quality. I have seen it before, and it’s perfectly normal, but rare.”

 _Yeah, I know where you could have seen it_ , Arthur thinks, remembering Sophia. _It’s just a colour, it doesn’t mean anything. You’re not evil_ – he repeats professor Alice’s words in his head. He really wants to believe her.

“Rare my ass,” Arthur says. These days, he surprises himself on a daily basis. He would have never talked like that to a boss at Magic Now. But since he started at Triskelion, he really did loosen up a little, and now, after the whole debacle with Uther, he doesn’t really care any longer. He knows Morgause doesn’t mind. “I feel like some Marvel villain.”

Morgause laughs lightly.

“Please give me one more chance?” Arthur pleads. “It won’t happen again, I swear. I would never betray you.”

A sigh.

“All right, have it your way, Arthur. One chance. But that’s only because I’ve grown to like you these past few days.”

“Thank you. It really means a lot.”

“I heard Igraine wrote to you?”

“Yes. I’m talking to her tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m glad for you, Arthur. I really am.”

“Take care, Morgause.”

“Yes, you too. Goodbye.”

***

**_Uther Pendragon on the dangers of magic_ **

_The founder of Magic Now talks about a new path of research the company is going to be funding. “We need to ascertain the degree to which a magical can enchant non-magical people,” Mr. Pendragon says. “These studies might possibly be groundbreaking in terms of our understanding of magic.”_

_But the founders of Triskelion, a non-profit organization dedicated to battling discrimination against the magical community, disagree. “Uther Pendragon has always been good at talk,” Morgause Gorlois, the founder of Triskelion, says. “What he really means by this_ groundbreaking research _is gaining further pretexts to limit the magicals’ autonomy by claiming they can be dangerous to others.”_

_Let’s reiterate the recent events: Uther Pendragon’s company has been recently accused of using inhumane methods in their therapy after a recording of one of the sessions has leaked to the public. Magic Now’s CEO claims the video has been taken out of context – but it created an outrage in the magical community nonetheless._

Merlin sighs, putting the newspaper away. It’s Sunday and they are having morning coffee in Merlin’s flat. In an hour, Arthur is supposed to talk to Igraine.

Merlin takes a sip of his coffee and puts his hand over Arthur’s palm before the other man is able to reach for the paper.

“Don’t bother,” Merlin says. “You have more pressing issues on your mind.”

“Anything… of interest?” Arthur asks.

“He’s gonna do research on the possibility of enchantments,” Merlin snarls. “I guess we both know why.”

Arthur lets out a long breath. “Yeah. By the _research_ he probably means _giving Gaius’ university absurd amounts of money to prove his thesis_. Fuck.”

“Hey. It’s okay.” Merlin pulls his chair in Arthur’s direction and puts a hand around his waist.

“I’m worried. He’s powerful. He can still do this, and our rights will be diminished again. And… it’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Merlin says pressingly, taking Arthur’s face in his hands. “Hey. Look at me. We both know that he would have done something like that no matter what, simply because he’s jaded. It had nothing to do with you. It just happened. It was an accident. You understand?”

Arthur nods. There are tears in the corners of his eyes. Merlin kisses them away.

“Boys?” Hunith’s melodious voice comes from the kitchen. “Please don’t torture yourselves with the news, okay?”

“Yes, Mum!” Merlin shouts, grinning. Arthur smiles shyly.

“Now,” Merlin says, “let’s turn Skype on. If you need me, Arthur, I’ll be in my room.”

***

There is a series of electronic blips and a few seconds of lagging confusion before a face appears on Arthur’s screen, framed by a row of shelves packed with colorful books, and a sweet voice, a bit distorted by the speakers, says:

“Arthur? Can… can you hear me?”

Arthur nods. He can’t manage to say the words. She is… she looks so similar to his memory of her. His first memory from the beach, her hands lifting him in the air, her smiling face blocking his view, becoming all his world. She has slight crows’ feet in the corners of her eyes, but otherwise, she’s still the same. Her hair is still golden, like Arthur’s. It reaches her arms in soft, light curls.

And she’s also smiling now, only, her smile is unsure, wavering. Her eyes are glistening.

“I… I can’t hear you, Arthur.”

Arthur lets out a shuddering breath. “It’s because I didn’t say anything. Hello, Mum.” His voice is tiny, changed by emotion.

She sighs softly. “Arthur.” The way she says his name makes him shiver. Igraine raises her arm, as if she wanted to touch him through the screen. “I longed to hear your voice. To see you.”

“Me too.” What should he talk about? There is so much to be said, years’ worth of missed conversation. Arthur doesn’t know where to start.

“How are you, my little one?” she laughs nervously. “Not so little now.”

“No.” Arthur smiles. “I’m all right. All things considering.”

“I’ve heard what happened at your father’s company,” she says softly. “Morgause wrote to me.”

“Yeah. I work for Morgause now.”

“I know. She said she likes you.”

“I think I like her too. In a way. She’s a bit intimidating.”

Igraine laughs. “So, you do finance? Is it something you like?”

Arthur sighs. “It’s something I learned not to hate.”

Igraine’s face is pained, and Arthur curses himself inwardly. He doesn’t want to cause her pain.

“Uther?” she asks simply. Arthur nods.

“What would be your perfect job, then?”

“I wanted to play football once. Then, to be a mathematician. A genius.” Arthur laughs, remembering his teenage dreams. “But I’m pretty happy now, really. I like working for Triskelion. I have a feeling I’m doing something good.”

“I’m glad you learned something about magic,” Igraine says. “I’m glad you realized what Uther’s doing is wrong.”

“I had help.”

“Friends?”

“Erm… yes. Well, actually, a boyfriend. He’s magical. His name is Merlin.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Igraine exclaims. “Oh, but that’s so great! Arthur, I’m so happy for you! I would love to meet him. If it’s okay with you.”

“Actually, he’s in the flat with me. I can call him later. But I want to talk to you alone first.”

“Of course, darling.”

Arthur holds his breath. Now comes the most difficult thing.

“I’ve also discovered something new about myself recently,” he says.

“Oh? What is it?”

“I… I am magical, Mum. Just as you are.”

The reaction Arthur sees is nothing like he expected. Igraine smiles, happy, but she doesn’t look especially surprised. _I know there was always a genetic possibility, but still_ , Arthur thinks. 

“Oh, I know, honey,” Igraine says. “I know.”

“You… know??” Arthur feels his head spinning. “How??”

“I used to talk to you in my mind,” says Igraine. “Before you even learned how to use your mouth to talk. I never told your father.”

Arthur suddenly remembers some petty argument he had with Morgana when they were both children. She was probably no older than thirteen, which means he must have been around eight. He was most likely trying to prove to her that he was smart, and she shot him with a revelation which at first, he took for a lie. _Dad used to be scared that you’re stupid_ , she said, sticking her tongue at him. _You didn’t want to start talking._

Arthur still remembers being outraged by the accusation, not wanting to believe it, and then, doubting himself as fear crept at him. At last, he cracked. He went to Uther and asked him. _Did you really think I was stupid?_ Dad looked at him, worried, with an uncharacteristically soft smile, and Arthur repeated Morgana’s words. _It’s true you started talking rather late_ , Uther said. _You were three when we heard you say your first sentence. But there was never any doubt as to your intelligence. Never think that._

“I don’t remember speaking in my mind,” Arthur says now, flatly.

Igraine smiles, and Arthur has to fight back tears.

“You wouldn’t. You were just a toddler. When you started speaking normally, I talked less to your mind. I figured it would be easier for you if you didn’t develop any of those abilities. Not with Uther as a dad. Though I never stopped completely, you know. Only… I was then taken from you.”

“Mum.” Arthur feels his eyes moisten. He reaches out to the screen like an idiot, wanting to touch Igraine through the laptop, defying the whole ocean that separates them.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, Arthur,” Igraine sobs out.

“No, never say that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I wish we could talk in our minds again one day.”

“Me too, Mum.”

“You must come here, my boy,” she says. “My house is yours. I’ll pay for the tickets, so don’t worry about money.” She’s really crying now, and Arthur can barely watch her, lest his heart bursts. “I would have never thought that I’d ever talk to my son again. _My son!_ ”

“I would have never thought I’d talk to my mum,” Arthur says.

“Will you come, then? You can bring your boyfriend with you. It’s not a problem.”

“If I manage to negotiate a vacation at my job, yes. Will… will your wife be okay with that?”

“She’ll be fine. She knows how much I love you.”

Arthur swallows. “Are you sure there is enough space for me and Merlin there?”

“Of course there is. Do you want me to pay for his tickets too? I can do that, you know. It’s not a problem.”

“N-no,” Arthur says, reddening a bit. “It’s fine. We’ll manage.”

And, after a moment, he adds: “You know, everything really started just with Merlin.”

And he tells the story: how he saw Merlin’s photo in a newspaper, how he met him; he tells about the lies and the mistrust, and then a sudden connection. He never would have thought that it could be so easy to talk about the full story – up to this point, it has been difficult for Arthur to open himself even before his therapist – but the words flow from his mouth, as Igraine listens patiently, her sweet smile encouraging, not judging for even one moment. 

“I’m so glad you found someone like Merlin,” Igraine says after Arthur’s finished. “You can call him here, if you want.”

And Arthur does.

***

From that day onward, things go a bit faster than Arthur has expected.

He settles in his new job. He manages to persuade two big former sponsors of Magic Now to redirect their funds to Triskelion. His new co-workers like him, and after some time, even Edwin’s irregular visits to the office stop being that bothersome.

He goes to therapy to professor Alice, gets formally tested for magic. He’s rather surprised to find out how much of this therapy doesn’t focus on magic, but instead, on Arthur’s childhood, his relationship with his father, with Morgana, even with Sophia. And how much of it is just him referring the events of the past days, with special focus on Merlin.

Merlin, who becomes a Triskelion volunteer, and manages to scramble some funds to go to the therapy as well. He needs it. They both need it. Arthur feels that, though there is so much love between them, there is also still some guilt, and fear, and they need to work on that.

Arthur cuts all his ties to Uther; he doesn’t know for how long, but he doesn’t want to think about it just yet. For now, he needs space. He knows from therapy that it’ll take a lot of time before he’ll be able to think about his father with anything other than a mixture of anxiety and guilt.

Arthur’s magic is pretty dormant. Now that he knows it’s there, he learns to notice the moments when it shows itself: those are not flashy, but rather mundane. Sometimes, an object falls to the floor because he pushes it with his mind alone. Other times, it’s this weird golden glow in the periphery of his vision when he can’t focus on a task at hand. Still at other times, it glues him to his laptop screen, forcing him to fall into the well of internet research, tuning out all the other signals his body sends him. Merlin calls it _being under a spell_. Arthur calls it hyper-fixation. 

But mostly, his magic allows him to talk to Merlin in his mind – but to Merlin only. He tries it with Freya and other magicals at Triskelion, but it never works. It’s just Merlin, the other side of his coin, that hears him when he speaks, and terrifyingly, the distance doesn’t matter. One day, when he’s bored at work and conducting thought experiments as a distraction, he hears Merlin bitching about Arthur being loud in his head from the other side of the city. Merlin is always complaining about loud noises. Arthur, on the other hand, seems not to hear anything that isn’t a bomb blast.

There are different ways to be magical. He really knows that now.


	9. Postlude

The alarm rings in Merlin’s ears, its awful voice entering his head through one ear, multiplying, then leaving through another ear and traveling across the room. Merlin grumbles, reluctant to open his eyes, and buries his face in the softness of Arthur’s back. Arthur is hot like a stove and Merlin clings to him like a heat-deprived octopus. The first sunrays fight their way under Merlin’s eyelids, blinding him.  
Then he hears a shuffle from somewhere below him. There is a clutter of cutlery, a boiling of a kettle… Merlin thinks sleepily about his mum preparing breakfast – but the sound’s not right, it doesn’t come from behind his bedroom door, but from downstairs. _Since when does my flat have two storeys?_ Merlin wonders, and then remembers.

It’s not Merlin’s mum who’s preparing breakfast. It’s Arthur’s.

Last day is a haze in Merlin’s mind: the jet lag, the exhausting journey, the breathing exercises he had to do on the plane because his magic suddenly decided that exploring plane engines to enhance them is positively _hilarious_. Then, the greetings at the airport, Igraine’s thin, but surprisingly strong arms around Merlin, and the other woman – Nimueh – giving him a smile that read a bit ironic; then finally, a journey to Igraine’s home, a dinner which Merlin doesn’t remember much because he was drunk on sleepiness and his magic. He only has a vague recollection of Nimueh collecting dishes by magic, and of Arthur’s eyes suddenly going orange-red as he hugged his mum in the kitchen.

Merlin doesn’t even remember showering and going to bed. Only that he probably woke up in the middle of the night, his body convinced that it’s morning already, and promptly lulled himself to sleep again.

“Hmph,” Arthur mumbles from underneath Merlin. His voice is vibrating through his back, sending a soft buzz down Merlin’s cheek. Merlin finally opens his eyes and kisses the back of Arthur’s neck.

“Good morning, lazy daisy,” he says, and Arthur lets out a sleepy huff.

“Lazy daisy? Who hurt you, Merlin?” Arthur turns on his back, almost crushing Merlin’s arm in the process. Merlin prompts himself on one elbow and looks Arthur in the half-open, hazy eyes.

“Do you know where we are?” Merlin asks, and observes as Arthur’s face goes from quizzical pout to lighting up in a happy revelation.

“Oh my god,” he says, his eyes shooting open. “Did I flash my magic eyes at my _mum_ yesterday? Tell me I didn’t.”

“I think you did,” Merlin says solemnly, then cracks up in a smile. “And I think she loved it.”

“Oh my god.”

“Relax. Everything’s fine. She loves you. I think even Nimueh likes you, though she’s not very quick to admitting it.”

“No, I think she likes _you_ better.” Arthur taps Merlin on the nose. “She was positively radiant yesterday when you told her about levitation.”

“Did I?” Merlin frowns. “I don’t remember. Were we really that tired?”

Arthur tries shrugging, but Merlin is still pinning him down to the mattress. “We were drunk on stress and magic.”

“Right. Then we’d better sober up quickly,” Merlin says. “I think your mum is preparing breakfast.”

“Now, that is a phrase I dreamt about hearing for years.”

Merlin smiles to Arthur, noticing a single happy tear in the corner of his eye. He wipes it, and kisses Arthur on his smiling mouth. The kiss is long, starting out tender, and finishing hungry.

“Good morning, love,” Merlin repeats when they break the kiss. “It’s a new day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)  
> This is the last part of "I was born with it". Comments and kudos are appreciated :)


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